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SEYMOUR    DURST 


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(in  i  01  Si  ymoi  i<  B.  Dursi  Oi  dYork  Library 


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LECTURES 


YOUNG     MEN, 


VARIOUS   IMPORTANT   SUBJECTS 


BY   HENRY   WARD   BEECHER, 

Brooklyn,   L.  I. 


SeticnteentI;  dousanU. 


BOSTON  SALEM: 

JOHN    P.    JEWETT,       D.   BRAINERD   BROOKS, 

23   Cornhill.  193  Essex   Street. 

NEW    YORK: 

M .    H .    NEWMAN    &    CO. 

1849. 


03 


\Vz. 


lb 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred 
aril  forty-four,  by  HENRY  WARD  BEECHER,  in  the  clerk's  office  of  the 
District  of  the  United  States,  within  and  for  the  District  of  Indiana. 


STEREOTYPED    BY 

GEORGE   A.   CURTIS; 

NEW  ENGLAND  TYPE  AND  STEREOTYPE  FOUNDRY. 


TO 

LYMAN    BEECHER,    D.  D. 

To  you  I  owe  more  than  to  any  other  living  being.  In 
childhood,  you  were  my  Parent ;  in  later  life,  my  Teacher ; 
in  manhood,  my  Companion.  To  your  affectionate  vigilance 
I  owe  my  principles,  my  knowledge,  and  that  I  am  a  Min- 
ister of  the  Gospel  of  Christ.  For  whatever  profit  they  derive 
from  this  little  Book,  the  young  will  be  indebted  to  you. 


PREFACE. 


Having  watched  the  courses  of  those  who  seduce  the  young — 
their  arts,  their  blandishments,  their  pretences ;  having  wit- 
nessed the  beginning  and  consummation  of  ruin,  almost  in  the 
same  year,  of.  many  young  men,  naturally  well  disposed,  whose 
downfall  began  with  the  appearances  of  innocence ;  I  felt  an 
earnest  desire,  if  I  could,  to  raise  the  suspicion  of  the  young, 
and  to  direct  their  reason  to  the  arts  by  which  they  are,  with 
such  facility,  destroyed. 

I  ask  every  young  man  who  may  read  this  book,  not  to 
submit  his  judgment  to  mine,  not  to  hate  because  I  denounce, 
nor  blindly  to  follow  me;  but  to  weigh  my  reasons,  that  he 
may  form  his  own  judgment.  I  only  claim  the  place  of  a  com- 
panion ;  and  that  I  may  gain  his  ear,  I  have  sought  to  present 
truth  in  those  forms  which  best  please  the  young ;  and  though 
I  am  not  without  hope  of  satisfying  the  aged  and  the  wise,  my 
whole  thought  has  been  to  carry  with  me  the  intelligent  sympathy 

of  YOUNG    MEN. 


PKEFACE 

TO    THE    SECOND    EDITION 


It  is  proper  to  remark,  that  many  of  the  statements  in  these 
Lectures,  which  may  seem  severe,  or  overdrawn,  in  New  Eng- 
land, are  literally  true  in  the  West.  Insensibility  to  public 
indebtedness,  gambling  among  the  members  of  the  Bar,  the 
ignoble  arts  of  Politicians, — I  know  not  if  such  things  are  found 
at  the  East, — but  within  one  year  past  an  edition  of  three 
thousand  copies  of  these  Lectures  has  been  distributed  through 
the  West,  and  it  has  been  generally  noticed  in  the  papers, 
and  I  have  never  heard  objections  from  any  quarter,  that  the 
canvass  has  been  too  strongly  colored. 


1* 


CONTENTS 


LECTURE    I. 

INDUSTRY  AND  IDLENESS, 16 

LECTURE    II. 

TWELVE  CAUSES  OF  DISHONESTY, 49 

LECTURE    III. 

SEX  WARNINGS, 60 

LECTURE    IV. 

THE  PORTRAIT  GALLERY, 106 

LECTURE    V. 

GAMBLERS  AND  GAMBLING, 136 

LECTURE    VI. 

THE  STRANGE  WOMAN, 170 

LECTURE    VII. 

POPULAR  AMUSEMENTS, 216 


EXTRACTS  FROM  NOTICES  OF  FIRST  EDITION 


OPINIONS  OF  DISTINGUISHED  LITERARY  MEN. 

[From  Wm.  H.  McGuffey,  Professor  at  Woodward  College,  Cincinnati,  Ohio.] 
"  Mr.  Beecher  sketches  character  with  a  masterly  hand  ;  and  the 
Id,  as  well  as  the  young,  must  bear  witness  to  the  truth  and  fidelity 
of  his  portraits.  I  would  recommend  the  book  to  the  especial  atten- 
tion of  those  for  whom  it  was  designed,  and  hope  that  the  patronage 
extended  to  this  may  encourage  the  author  to  make  other  efforts 
through  the  press,  for  the  promotion  of  enlightened  patriotism  and 
sound  morals." 

[From  D.  H.  Allen,  Professor  at  Lane  Seminary,  Cincinnati,  Ohio.] 
"  "We  have  a  variety  of  books  designed  for  young  men,  but  I  know 
of  none  worth  half  as  much  as  this.  It  will  be  sure  to  be  read,  and 
if  read,  will  not  be  easily  forgotten ;  and  the  young  man  who  reads 
and  remembers  it,  will  always  have  before  him  a  vivid  picture  of  the 
snares  and  pitfalls  to  which  he  is  exposed.  Every  youth  should  pos- 
sess it.  Every  father  should  place  it  in  the  hands  of  his  sons.  It  should 
be  in  every  Sabbath  School  Library,  on  board  every  Steam-boat,  in  every 
Hotel,  and  wherever  young  men  spend  a  leisure  hour." 

[From  Dr.  A.  Wylie,  President  of  the  Indiana  University,  at  Bloomington.J 
"  The  indignant  rebukes  which  the  author  deals  out  against  that 
spirit  of  licentiousness  which  shows  itself  in  those  frivolous  works 
which  he  mentions,  and  which  are  corrupting  the  taste  as  well  as 
the  morals  of  our  youth,  have  my  warmest  approbation.  That  the 
genius  and  wit  of  Addison  himself  should  be  set  aside  for  the  trash 
of  such  works  is  lamentable  :  it  is  ominous. 

"  The  warnings  which  Mr.  Beecher  has  given  on  the  subject  of 
amusements  are  greatly  needed :  and  his  satire  on  that  of  <  repu- 
diation,' no  less. 

"  In  short  the  book  deserves  a  place  on  the  shelf  of  every  house- 
holder in  the  land,  to  be  read  by  the  old  as  well  as  the  young." 


8  NOTICES    OF    THE 

[From  Dr.  C.  White,  President  of  Wabash  College,  Crawfordsville,  Indiana.] 

"Rev.  H.  W.  Bcecher's  Lectures  follow  a  long  series  of  elaborate 
and  able  works  addressed  to  young  men  by  some  of  our  best  wri- 
ters. It  is  no  small  merit  of  this  production  that  it  is  not  less 
instructive  and  impressive  than  the  best  of  those  which  have  prece- 
ded it,  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  totally  unlike  them  all.  Mr. 
Beecher  has  given  to  young  men  most  important  warnings,  and 
most  valuable  advice  with  unusual  fidelity  and  effect.  Avoiding 
the  abstract  and  formal,  he  has  pointed  out  to  the  young  the  evils 
and  advantages  which  surround  them,  with  so  much  reality  and 
vividness,  that  we  almost  forget  we  are  reading  a  book  instead  of 
looking  personally  into  the  interior  scenes  of  a  living  and  breathing 
community.    These  lectures  will  bear  to  be  read  often." 

[From  Hon.  John  McLean,  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States.] 
"I  know  of  no  work  so  admirably  calculated,  if  read  with  atten- 
tion, to  lead  young  men  to  correctness  of  thought  and  action,  and  I 
earnestly  recommend  it  to  the  study  of  every  young  man  who  desires 
to  become  eminently  respectable  and  useful." 

[From  E.  W.  Sehon,  General  Agent  Am.  Bible  Society  for  the  West.] 
"  The  intention  of  the  author  is  well  preserved  throughout  this 
volume.  We  commend  the  book  for  its  boldness  and  originality  of 
thought  and  independence  of  expression.  The  young  men  of  our 
country  cannot  too  highly  appreciate  the  efforts  of  one  who  has  thus 
nobly  and  affectionately  labored  for  their  good." 

[From  James  H.  Perkins,  Pastor  of  the  Unitarian  Church,  Cincinnati,  Ohio.] 
"  I  have  read  Mr.  Henry  W.  Beecher's  lectures  to  young  men 
with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  They  appear  to  me  to  contain  advice 
better  adapted  to  our  country  than  can  be  found  in  any  similar  work  with 
which  I  am  acquainted;  and  this  advice  is  presented  in  a  style  far 
better  calculated  than  that  common  to  the  pulpit,  to  attract  and 
please  the  young.  I  should  certainly  recommend  the  volume  to  any 
young  man  of  my  acquaintance  as  worthy  of  frequent  perusal,  and 
trust  our  American  pulpit  may  produce  many  others  as  pleasing 
and  practical." 

[From  T.  R.  Cressy,  Pastor  of  the  First  Baptist  Church,  Cincinnati,  Ohio.] 
"There  is  so  much  ignorance  among  good  men  in  general,  in  all 
our  cities  and  large  towns,  of  the  astonishing  prevalence  of  vice,  espe 


FIRST    EDITION.  \f 

daily  of  licentiousness  and  of  its  procuring  causes  ;  and  there  is 
such  a  false  delicacy  on  the  part  of  those  who  know  these  things,  to 
hold  them  up  to  the  gaze  of  the  unsuspecting,  that  this  book  will 
not  pass  for  its  real  worth.  But  it  is  a  valuable  work.  It  speaks 
the  truth  in  all  plainness.  It  should  be  in  every  family  library  ;  every 
young  man  should  first  read  and  then  study  it." 

[From  J.  Blanchard,  Pastor  of  the  Fifth  Presbyterian  Church,  Cincinnati,  Ohio.] 
"The  book  is  both  pleasing  and  profitable:  filled  with  vivid 
sketches  and  delineations  of  vice  ;  weighty  instructions,  pithy  senti- 
ments, delicate  turns  of  thought,  and  playful  sallies  of  humor ;  and 
in  style  and  matter  is  admirably  adapted  to  the  tastes  and  wants  of 
the  class  for  whom  it  is  written." 

[From  T.  A.  Mills,  Pastor  of  the  Third  Presbyterian  Church,  Cincinnati,  Ohio.] 
"The  matter  of  this  work  is  excellent  and  the  style  striking  and 
attractive.  The  dangers  of  young  men  are  vividly  portrayed,  and 
much  moral  instruction  given.  Many  of  the  popular  errors  of  the 
present  day  are  handled  as  they  deserve.  No  young  man  can  read 
the  book  attentively  without  profit,  and  its  perusal  would  prove 
advantageous  even  to  those  who  are  immersed  in  the  cares  and 
business  of  life.  It  will  need  no  recommendation  after  it  becomes 
known." 

[From  S.  W.  Lynde,  Pastor  of  the  Ninth  Street  Baptist  Church,  Cincinnati,  Ohio.] 
"The  Lectures  to  Young  Men,  by  H.  W.  Beecher,  appear  to  be 
well  adapted  to  usefulness,  and  worthy  of  an  extensive  circulation." 

[From  the  Indiana  State  Journal.] 

"  We  have  no  doubt  that  these  Lectures,  as  read,  will  produce  a 
powerful  impression.  #  #  #  #  * 

"The  pictures  which  glow  from  the  hand  of  the  artist  arrest 
the  eye,  (so  admirable  is  the  style  and  arrangement,)  nor  will  the 
interest  once  aroused  slacken,  until  the  whole  sketch  shall  be  con- 
templated. And  the  effect  of  the  sketch, — like  that  of  a  visit  to  the 
dens  of  iniquity  shorn  of  their  blandishments, — cannot  fail  to  be  of 
the  most  wholesome  admonitory  character." 

[From  the  Daily  Cincinnati  Gazette.] 
"  To  find  anything  new  or  peculiar  in  a  work  of  this  kind,  now- 
vdays,  would  indeed  be  strange.     In  this  respect  we  were  agreeably 
surprised  in  looking  over  the  book  before  us.     The  subjects,  though 


10  NOTICES    OF    THE   FIRST    EDITION. 

many  of  them  are  common-place,  are  important  and  handled  in  a 
masterly  manner.  The  author  shows  himself  acquainted  with  the 
world,  and  with  human  nature,  in  all  its  varying  phases.  He  writes 
as  one  who  has  learned  the  dangers  and  temptations  that  beset  the 
young,  from  personal  observation,  and  not  from  hearsay." 

[From  the  Ohio  State  Journal,  Columbus,  Ohio.] 
"  The  garb  in  which  the  author  presents  his  subjects,  makes  them 
exceedingly  attractive,  and  must  make  his  Lectures  very  popular, 
when  the  public  shall  become  acquainted  with  them.  When  deliv- 
ered, it  was  not  the  design  of  the  accomplished  author  to  publish 
them ;  but  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of  a  number  of  prominent  cit- 
izens of  Indiana,  who  were  convinced  that  they  would  have  a  highly 
beneficial  influence  in  arresting  the  progress  of  vice  and  immorality, 
he  prepared  them  for  the  press,  and  they  are  now^  published  in  a 
cheap  and  neat  form ;  the  typography  being  highly  creditable  to  the 
Western  press." 

[From  the  Baptist  Cross  and  Journal,  Columbus,  Ohio.] 
"  It  is  an  excellent  book,  and  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every 
young  man,  and  of  many  parents.  But  few  of  those  who  are 
a.ixious  to  place  their  sons  m  large  towns  and  cities,  are  aware  of 
the  temptations  which  beset  them  there,  or  of  the  many  sons  thus 
placed,  who  are  unable  to  withstand  these  temptations.  This  work 
will  open  their  eyes,  and  place  them  on  their  guard.  It  is  written  in 
a  popular,  captivating  style,  and  is  neatly  printed.  It  goes  right  at 
the  besetting  sins  of  the  age,  and  handles  them  without  gloves.  It 
ought  to  be  extensively  circulated." 

[From  the  Cincinnati  Daily  Herald.] 

"Mr.  Beecher  looks  at  things  in  hrs  own  way,  and  utters  his 
thoughts  in  his  own  style.  His  conceptions  are  strong,  his  speech 
direct  and  to  the  point.     The  work  is  worthy  of  anybody's  perusal. 

11  One  thing  more  before  we  leave  this  book.  It  is  entirely  prac- 
tical, and  specially  appropriate  to  the  times — and  its  views,  so  far  as 
we  can  speak  from  our  own  perusal,  are  just,  and  very  forcible." 

[From  the  Louisville  Journal.] 
"  It  is  the  most  valuable  addition  to  our  didactic  literature  that 
has  been  made  for  many  years.    Let  all  get  it  and  read  it  care- 
fully." 


LITERARY  NOTICES  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION 

o 


[From  the  Olive  Branch  ] 
"Beecher's  Lectures  to  Young  Men. — One  of  the  most  able, 
interesting  and  really  useful  works  for  young  men  is  the  volume  of 
lectures  addressed  to  them,  by  Henry  Ward  Beeuher.  Every  young 
man  should  have  a  copy  of  it.  The  second  edition  is  now  before 
the  public,  published  by  John  P.  Jewett  6c  Co.,  Salem." 

[From  the  New  York  Commercial  Advertiser.] 
"We  have  received  'Lectures  to  Young  Men  on  Important  Sub- 
jects,' by  the  Rev.  H.  W.  Beecher,  the  second  edition  of  a  work  that 
has  already  effected  much  good,  and,  we  trust,  is  destined  to  achieve 
still  more.  The  subjects  are  practical,  such  as  concern  all  young 
men  especially  at  the  present  day.  The  sentiments  of  the  writer 
are  put  forth  with  much  conciseness  and  vigor  of  style,  for  Mr. 
Beecher  writes  like  one  in  earnest.  We  could  wish  that  every 
young  man  had  the  book  put  into  his  hands — especially  every  youth 
whose  avocation  or  choice  may  lead  Mm  to  reside  in  any  of  the 
larger  cities  of  the  Union." 

[From  the  Christian  Observer,  Philadelphia.] 
"Beecher's  Lectures  to  Young  Men. — This  is  a  new  edition 
of  an  approved  and  excellent  book,  which  it  affords  us  pleasure  to 
recommend  to  young  men  in  every  part  of  the  country.  The 
author's  thoughts,  style,  and  manner,  are  his  own ;  and  his  vivid 
sketches  of  the  evils  and  advantages  which  surround  the  young,  are 
replete  with  important  counsels  and  valuable  instruction." 

[From  the  Christian  Mirror,  Portland,  Maine.] 
"We  have  read  the  whole,  and  do  not  hesitate  to  endorse  the 
strong  recommendations  of  Western  Presidents  and  Professors  of 
Colleges,  Judge  McLean,  and  numerous  clergymen,  Presbyterians, 
Baptists,  and  Unitarians.  Professor  Allen,  of  Lane  Seminary, 
<■  knows  of  no  book  designed  for  young  men  worth  half  so  much  as 
this.'  President  Wylie  says,  it  '  deserves  a  place  on  the  shelf  of 
every  household  in  the  land.'  President  White  says,  '  it  is  not  less 
instructive  than  the  best  of  those  which  have  preceded  it,  at  the 


12  NOTICES    OF    THE 

same  time  that  it  is  totally  unlike  them  all.'  Judge  McLean 
1  knows  of  no  work  so  admirably  calculated  to  lead  young  men  to 
correctness  of  thought  and  action.'  We  might  copy  other  testimo- 
nies agreeing  with  these,  but  it  is  not  necessary.  Characters  and 
qualities,  whether  for  warning  or  imitation,  are  drawn  with  uncom- 
mon graphic  power  and  justness  of  delineation,  as  any  one  may 
satisfy  himself  who  will  turn  to  ' the  picture  gallery,'  and  survey 
the  full  length  portraits  of  the  Wit,  the  Humorist,  the  Cynic,  the 
Libertine,  the  Demagogue,  and  the  Party-man.  Would  that  every 
family  might  procure  and  peruse  it." 

[From  the  Christian  Citizen.] 

"Lectures  to  Young  Men — By  Henry  Ward  Beecher.  This 
is  a  volume  of  good  strong  Saxon  thoughts,  which  no  young  man 
can  read  without  thinking  the  like.  The  author  talks  right  into  the 
avocations  of  every-day  life,  as  if  he  had  been  there  himself,  and 
were  not  dealing  in  kid  glove  theories  of  life  and  duty.  Young 
men,  you  had  better  buy  that  book ;  it  costs  but  little,  and  it  will  be 
worth  a  hundred  dollars  a  year  to  you  if  you  read  it  in  the  right 
way.' 

Highly  recommendatory  notices  appeared  in  the  New  York  Evan- 
gelist, New  York  Observer,  Christian  World,  Christian  Register, 
Christian  Watchman,  &c,  &c.  We  have  not  the  papers  to  copy 
them  from. 

[From  the  Christian  Reflector,  Boston.] 

"  This  is  a  '  young  man's  manual,'  to  the  purpose.  It  treats  of 
the  most  important  subjects,  with  simple  directness,  and  yet  with  the 
hand  of  a  master.  There  are  thousands  of  young  men  in  Boston 
who  would  read  it  with  profit  and  interest,  and  not  a  few  whom  its 
perusal  might  save  from  'the  yawning  gulf  of  corruption  and  ruin.' 
This  is  the  second  edition  of  a  work  first  published  at  Cincinnati, 
and  already  honored  with  the  cordial  approbation  of  many  distin- 
guished men.  It  is  a  handsomely  printed  volume  of  moderate  size, 
pages  250.  Mr.  Beecher  dedicates  the  work  to  his  honored  father, 
Lyman  Beecher,  D.  D.  Let  every  young  man  secure  this  book,  and 
read  it." 

[From  the  Portland  Transcript] 
"Beecher's  Lectures  to  Young  Men. — In  handling  his  subjects 
the  author  has  a  peculiar  style.    There  is  a  freshness  and  originality 


THIRD    EDITION.  13 

about  it  that  at  once  arrests  attention.  He  writes  with  an  ungloved 
hand, — presents  truth,  as  truth  should  be  presented, — naked.  What- 
ever there  is  beautiful,  whatever  hideous  about  her,  there  she  stands, 
a  mark  for  all  to  gaze  at.  "We  have  vices  enough  in  New  England 
which  need  rebuking  and  reforming.  There  are  none  so  virtuous 
who  may  not  be  profited  by  these  lectures.  They  are  addressed  to 
the  young  men  particularly,  yet  the  aged  may  glean  from  them 
many  a  useful  lesson.  We  commend  the  work  heartily  to  all.  It  is 
not  a  dry,  abstract  treatise  on  morals ;  but  highly  practical  through- 
out. The  pictures  presented  are  life-like, — flesh  and  blood  portraits. 
The  illustrations  are  apt  and  happy,  while  an  occasional  vein  of 
humor  comes  in  as  a  very  agreeable  seasoning.  The  author  writes 
like  one  in  earnest,  like  one  who  feels  the  importance  of  the  duty  he 
has  assumed.    A  better  work  for  the  young  we  have  rarely  read." 

[From  the  Daily  Evening  Transcript,  Boston.] 
"  These  Lectures  abound  in  important  and  impressive  truths, 
expressed  in  clear  and  pungent  language.  Mr.  Beecher's  style  is 
remarkable  for  compactness  and  forcibleness.  He  occasionally 
thunders  and  lightens,  but  it  is  to  arouse  young  men  to  the  dangers 
to  which  they  are  exposed.  There  is  a  freshness  and  vivacity  about 
his  thoughts  and  language  which  must  interest  as  well  as  instruct 
and  warn  the  young.  We  would  that  every  young  man  in  our 
city, — yea,  in  our  country, — had  a  copy  of  these  lectures  in  his  hands. 
They  can  scarcely  fail  to  interest  every  intelligent  reader,  nor  to 
oenefit  every  young  man  not  lost  to  a  sense  of  duty,  not  blind  to 
danger,  not  in  love  with  vice." 

[From  the  Advocate  of  Moral  Reform,  New  York.] 
"  Beecher's  Lectures  to  Young  Men. — Wherever  this  book  is 
known,  it  is  regarded  of  superlative  worth.     In  our  judgment  no 
young  man  should  enter  upon  city  life  without  it.     Employers,  both 
in  city  and  country,  should  place  it  in  the  hands  of  their  clerks  and 
apprentices.     Fathers  should  give  it  to  their  sons,  and  sons  should 
keep  it  next  their  Bibles,  and  engrave  its  precepts  upon  their  hearts. 
We  are  glad  to  learn,  that,  although  so  recently  published,  it  has 
passed  to  a  third  edition,  and  the  demand  for  it  is  increasing." 
[From  the  Cong.  Journal,  Concord,  N.  H.] 
"  The  writer  draws  his  sketches  with  the  hand  of  a  master,  and 
entering  upon  his  work  with  a  hearty  interest  in  the  young,  for 

2 


14  NOTICES    OF    THE    THIRD    EDITION. 

whom  he  writes  it,  he  makes  them  feel  that  he  is  honest  "and  in 
earnest.  While  the  book  is  not  wanting  in  seriousness,  it  has  the 
charm  of  variety ;  and  though  it  encourages  stern  religious  and 
moral  principles,  the  pictures  drawn  in  it  are  so  vivid,  that  it  will  be 
read  with  the  interest  of  an  ingenious  work  of  fiction.  Every  father 
should  put  it  in  his  family." 

Valuable  notices  have  appeared  in  most  of  the  papers  in  New 
England  and  New  York  state,  too  numerous  to  copy. 


LECTURE   I 


Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread.    Matt.  vi.  11. 

This  we  commanded  you,  that  if  any  would  not  work,  neither  should  he 
eat.  For  we  hear  that  there  are  some  who  walk  among  you  disorderly, 
working  not  at  all,  hut  are  busybodies.  Now  them  that  are  Such  we 
command  and  exhort  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  that  with  quietness 
they  work,  and  eat  their  own  bread.    2  Thess.  iii.  10,  12. 

The  bread  which  we  solicit  of  God,  he  gives  us 
through  our  own  industry.  Prayer  sows  it,  and 
Industry  reaps  it. 

As  Industry  is  habitual  activity  in  some  useful 
pursuit,  so,  not  only  inactivity,  but  also  all  efforts 
without  the  design  of  usefulness,  are  of  the  nature 
of  Idleness.  The  supine  sluggard  is  no  more  indo- 
lent than  the  bustling  do-nothing.  Men  may  walk 
much,  and  read  much,  and  talk  much,  and  pass  the 
day  without  an  unoccupied  moment,  and  yet  be  sub- 
stantially idle;  because  Industry  requires,  at  least, 
the  intention  of  usefulness.  But  gadding,  gazing, 
lounging,  mere  pleasure-mongering,  reading  for  the 
relief  of  emiai, — these  are  as  useless  as  sleeping,  or 
dozing,  or  the  stupidity  of  a  surfeit. 


16  INDUSTRY    AND 

There  are  many  grades  of  idleness ;  and  veins  of 
it  run  through  the  most  industrious  life.  We  shall 
indulge  in  some  descriptions  of  the  various  classes  of 
idlers,  and  leave  the  reader  to  judge,  if  he  be  an 
indolent  man,  to  which  class  he  belongs. 

1.  The  lazy-man.  He  is  of  a  very  ancient  pedi- 
gree ;  for  his  family  is  minutely  described  by  Solo- 
mon: How  long  wilt  thou  sleep,  O  sluggard?  when 
wilt  thou  awake  out  of  sleep  ?  This  is  the  language 
of  impatience;  the  speaker  has  been  trying  to 
awaken  him — pulling,  pushing,  rolling  him  over,  and 
shouting  in  his  ear ;  but  all  to  no  purpose.  He  solil- 
oquizes, whether  it  is  possible  for  the  man  ever  to 
wake  up  !  At  length,  the  sleeper  drawls  out  a  doz- 
ing petition  to  be  let  alone :  "  Yet  a  little  sleep,  a  little 
slumber,  a  little  folding  of  the  hands  to  sleep  ;"  and 
the  last  words  confusedly  break  into  a  snore, — that 
somnolent  lullaby  of  repose.  Long  ago  the  birds 
have  finished  their  matins,  the  sun  has  advanced 
full  high,  the  dew  has  gone  from  the  grass,  and  the 
labors  of  Industry  are  far  in  progress,  when  our 
sluggard,  awakened  by  his  very  efforts  to  maintain 
sleep,  slowly  emerges  to  perform  life's  great  duty  of 
feeding — with  him,  second  only  in  importance  to 
sleep.  And  now,  well  rested,  and  suitably  nour- 
ished, surely  he  will  abound  in  labor.  Nay,  the  slug- 
gard will  not  plough  by  reason  of  the  cold.     It  is  yet 


IDLENESS.  17 

early  spring ;  there  is  ice  in  the  north  ;  and  tne  winds 
are  hearty :  his  tender  skin  shrinks  from  exposure, 
and  he  waits  for  milder  days, — envying  the  residents 
of  tropical  climates,  where  cold  never  comes,  and 
harvests  wave  spontaneously.  He  is  valiant  at 
sleeping  and  at  the  trencher ;  but  for  other  courage, 
the  slothful  man  saith,  there  is  a  lion  without ;  I  shall 
be  slain  in  the  street.  He  has  not  been  out  to  see ; 
but  he  heard  a  noise,  and  resolutely  betakes  himself 
to  prudence.  Under  so  thriving  a  manager,  so  alert 
in  the  morning,  so  busy  through  the  day,  and  so 
enterprising,  we  might  anticipate  the  thrift  of  his 
husbandry.  /  went  by  the  field  of  the  slothful  and 
by  the  vineyard  of  the  man  void  of  understanding ; 
and  lo  !  it  was  all  grown  over  with  thorns,  and  net- 
tles had  covered  the  face  of  it,  and  its  stone  wall  was 
broken  down.  To  complete  the  picture,  only  one 
thing  more  is  wanted, — a  description  of  his  house, — 
and  then  we  should  have,  at  one  view,  the  lazy- 
man,  his  farm,  and  house.  Solomon  has  given  us 
that  also :  By  much  slothfulness  the  building  decay- 
eth ;  and  through  idleness  of  the  hands  the  house 
droppeth  through.  Let  all  this  be  put  together,  and 
possibly  some  reader  may  find  an  unpleasant  resem- 
blance to  his  own  affairs. 

He  sleeps  long  and  late,  he  wakes  to  stupidity, 
with  indolent  eyes   sleepily  rolling  over  neglected 
2* 


18  INDUSTRY   AND 

work ;  neglected  because  it  is  too  cold  in  spring,  and 
too  hot  in  summer,  and  too  laborious  at  all  times, — 
a  great  coward  in  danger,  and  therefore  very  blus- 
tering in  safety.  His  lands  run  to  waste,  his  fences 
**  are  dilapidated,  his  crops  chiefly  of  weeds  and  bram- 
-f-  bles ;  a  shattered  house,  the  side  leaning  over  as  if 
wishing,  like  its  owner,  to  lie  down  to  sleep;  the 
chimney  tumbling  down,  the  roof  breaking  in,  with 
moss  and  grass  sprouting  in  its  crevices;  the  well 
without  pump  or  windlass,  a  trap  for  their  children. 
This  is  the  very  castle  of  Indolence. 

2.  Another  idler  as  useless,  but  vastly  more  active 
than  the  last,  attends  closely  to  every  one's  busi- 
ness, except  his  own.  His  wife  earns  the  children's 
bread,  and  his ;  procures  her  own  raiment  and  his ; 
she  procures  the  wood;  she  procures  the  water, 
while  he,  with  hands  in  his  pocket,  is  busy  watch- 
ing the  building  of  a  neighbor's  barn ;  or  advising 
another  how  to  trim  and  train  his  vines ;  or  he  has 
heard  of  sickness  in  a  friend's  family,  and  is  there, 
to  suggest  a  hundred  cures,  and  to  do  everything 
but  to  help ;  he  is  a  spectator  of  shooting-matches, 
a  stickler  for  a  ring  and  fair  play  at  every  fight.  He 
knows  all  the  stories  of  all  the  families  that  live  in 
the  town.  If  he  can  catch  a  stranger  at  the  tavern 
in  a  rainy  day,  he  pours  out  a  strain  of  information, 
a  pattering  of  words,  as  thick  as  the  rain-drops  out 


IDLENESS.  19 

of  doors.  He  has  good  advice  to  everybody,  how 
to  save,  how  to  make  money,  how  to  do  every- 
thing; he  can  tell  the  saddler  about  his  trade,  he 
gives  advice  to  the  smith  about  his  work,  and  goes 
over  with  him  when  it  is  forged  to  see  the  carriage- 
maker  put  it  on,  suggests  improvements,  advises  this 
paint  or  that  varnish,  criticises  the  finish,  or  praises 
the  trimmings.  He  is  a  violent  reader  of  newspa- 
pers, almanacs,  and  receipt  books ;  and  with  scraps 
of  history  and  mutilated  anecdotes,  he  faces  the  very 
school  master,  and  gives  up  only  to  the  volubility  of 
the  oily  village  lawyer, — few  have  the  hardihood  to 
match  him. 

And  thus  every  day  he  bustles  through  his  multi- 
farious idleness,  and  completes  his  circle  of  visits,  as 
regularly  as  the  pointers  of  a  clock  visit  each  figure 
on  the  dial  plate ;  but  alas !  the  clock  forever  tells 
man  the  useful  lesson  of  time  passing  steadily  away, 
and  returning  never ;  but  what  useful  thing  do  these 
busy  buzzing  idlers  perform  ? 

3.  We  introduce  another  idler.  He  follows  no 
vocation ;  he  only  follows  those  who  do.  Some- 
times he  sweeps  along  the  streets,  with  consequen- 
tial gait ;  sometimes  perfumes  it  with  wasted  odors 
of  tobacco.  He  also  haunts  sunny  benches,  or  breezy 
piazzas.  His  business  is  to  see;  his  desire  to  be 
seen,   and  no  one   fails   to   see    him, — so   gaudily 


20  INDUSTRY   AND 

dressed,  his  hat  sitting  aslant  upon  a  wilderness  of 
hair,  like  a  bird  half  startled  from  its  nest,  and  every 
thread  arranged  to  provoke  attention.  He  is  a  man 
of  honor;  not  that  he  keeps  his  word  or  shrinks 
from  meanness.  He  defrauds  his  laundress,  his 
tailor,  and  his  landlord.  He  drinks  and  smokes  at 
other  men's  expense.  He  gambles  and  swears,  and 
fights — when  he  is  too  drunk  to  be  afraid ;  but  still 
he  is  a  man  of  honor,  for  he  has  whiskers  and  looks 
fierce,  wears  mustachios  and  says,  "upon  my  honor, 
sir  ;"  "  do  you  doubt  my  honor,  sir  ?  " 

Thus  he  appears  by  day ;  by  night  he  does  not 
appear;  he  may  be  dimly  seen  flitting;  his  voice 
may  be  heard  loud  in  the  carousal  of  some  refection 
cellar,  or  above  the  songs  and  uproar  of  a  midnight 
return,  and  home  staggering. 

4.  The  next  of  this  brotherhood  excites  our  pity. 
He  began  life  most  thriftily ;  for  his  rising  family  he 
was  gathering  an  ample  subsistence;  but,  involved 
in  other  men's  affairs,  he  went  down  in  their  ruin. 
Late  in  life  he  begins  once  more,  and  at  length  just 
secure  of  an  easy  competence,  his  ruin  is  compassed 
again.  He  sits  down  quietly  under  it,  complains 
of  no  one,  envies  no  one,  refuseth  the  cup,  and  is 
even  more  pure  in  morals,  than  in  better  days. 
He  moves  on  from  day  to  day,  as  one  who  walks 
under  a  spell, — it  is  the  spell  of  despondency,  which 


IILENESS.  21 

nothing  can  disenchant  or  arouse.  He  neither  seeks 
work  nor  refuses  it.  He  wanders  among  men  a 
dreaming  gazer,  poorly  clad,  always  kind,  always 
irresolute,  able  to  plan  nothing  for  himself,  nor  to 
execute  what  others  have  planned  for  him.  He 
lives  and  he  dies  a  discouraged  man,  and  the  most 
harmless  and  excusable  of  all  idlers. 

5.  I  have  not  mentioned  the  fashionable  idler, 
whose  riches  defeat  every  object  for  which  God  gave 
him  birth.  He  has  a  fine  form,  and  manly  beauty, 
and  the  chief  end  of  life  is  to  display  them.  With 
notable  diligence  he  ransacks  the  market  for  rare 
and  curious  fabrics,  for  costly  seals,  and  chains,  and 
rings.  A  coat  poorly  fitted  is  the  unpardonable  sin 
of  his  creed.  He  meditates  upon  cravats,  employs 
a  profound  discrimination  in  selecting  a  hat,  or  a 
vest,  and  adopts  his  conclusions  upon  the  tasteful- 
ness  of  a  button  or  a  collar,  with  the  deliberation 
of  a  statesman.  Thus  caparisoned,  he  saunters  in 
fashionable  galleries,  or  flaunts  in  stylish  equipage, 
or  parades  the  streets  with  simpering  belles,  or  de- 
lights their  itching  ears  with  compliments  of  flattery, 
or  with  choicely  culled  scandal.  He  is  a  reader  of 
fictions,  if  they  be  not  too  substantial ;  a  writer  of 
cards  and  billet-doux,  and  is  especially  conspicuous 
in  albums.  Gay  and  frivolous,  rich  and  useless, 
polished  till  the  enamel  is  worn  ofT,  his  whole  life 


22  INDUSTRY   AND 

serves  only  to  make  him  an  animated  puppet  of 
pleasure.  He  is  as  corrupt  in  imagination  as  he  is 
refined  in  manners ;  he  is  as  selfish  in  private  as  he 
is  generous  in  public;  and  even  what  he  gives  to 
another,  is  given  for  his  own  sake.  He  worships 
where  fashion  worships,  to-day  at  the  theatre,  to- 
morrow at  the  church,  as  either  exhibits  the  whitest 
hand,  or  the  most  polished  actor.  A  gaudy,  active 
and  indolent  butterfly,  he  flutters  without  industry 
from  flower  to  flower,  until  summer  closes,  and  frosts 
sting  him,  and  he  sinks  down  and  dies,  unthought  of 
and  unremembered. 

6.  One  other  portrait  should  be  drawn  of  a  busi- 
ness man,  who  wishes  to  subsist  by  his  occupation 
,  while  he  attends  to  everything  else.  If  a  sporting, 
club  goes  to  the  woods,  he  must  go.  He  has  set  his 
line  in  every  hole  in  the  river,  and  dozed  in  a 
summer  day  under  every  tree  along  its  bank.  He 
rejoices  in  a  riding  party — a  sleigh-ride — a  summer- 
frolic — a  winter's  glee.  He  is  everybody's  friend — 
universally  good-natured, — forever  busy  where  it 
will  do  him  no  good,  and  remiss  where  his  interests 
require  activity.  He  takes  amusement  for  his  main 
business,  which  other  men  employ  as  a  relaxation ; 
and  the  serious  labor  of  life,  which  other  men  are 
mainly  employed  in,  he  knows  only  as  a  relaxation. 
After  a  few  years  he  fails,  his  good  nature  is  some- 


IDLENESS.  23 

thing  clouded,  and  as  age  sobers  his  buoyancy, 
without  repairing  his  profitless  habits,  he  soon  sinks 
to  a  lower  grade  of  laziness,  and  to  ruin. 

It  would  be  endless  to  describe  the  wiles  of  idle- 
ness— how  it  creeps  upon  men,  how  secretly  it  min- 
gles with  their  pursuits,  how  much  time  it  purloins 
from  the  scholar,  from  the  professional  man,  and 
from  the  artisan.  It  steals  minutes,  it  clips  off  the 
edges  of  hours,  and  at  length  takes  possession  of 
days.  Where  it  has  its  will,  it  sinks  and  drowns 
employment;  but  where  necessity,  or  ambition,  or 
duty  resists  such  violence,  then  indolence  makes 
labor  heavy;  scatters  the  attention;  puts  us  to  our 
tasks  with  wandering  thoughts,  with  irresolute  pur- 
pose, and  with  dreamy  visions.  Thus  when  it  may, 
it  plucks  out  hours  and  rules  over  them ;  and  where 
this  may  not  be,  it  lurks  around  them  to  impede  the 
sway  of  industry,  and  turn  her  seeming  toils  to 
subtle  idleness.  Against  so  mischievous  an  enchant- 
ress, we  should  be'  duly  armed.  I  shall,  therefore, 
describe  the  advantages  of  Industry,  and  the  evils  of 
Indolence. 

1.  A  hearty  Industry  promotes  happiness.  Some 
men  of  the  greatest  industry  are  unhappy  from  infe- 
licity of  disposition ;  they  are  morose,  or  suspicious, 
or  envious.  Such  qualities  make  happiness  impos- 
sible under  any  circumstances. 


24  INDUSTRY   AND 

Health  is  the  platform  on  which  all  happiness 
must  be  built.  Good  appetite,  good  digestion,  and 
good  sleep,  are  the  elements  of  health,  and  Industry 
confers  them.  As  use  polishes  metals,  so  labor  the 
faculties,  until  the  body  performs  its  unimpeded 
functions  with  elastic  cheerfulness  and  hearty  enjoy- 
ment. 

Buoyant  spirits  are  an  element  of  happiness,  and 
activity  produces  them;  but  they  fly  away  from 
sluggishness,  as  fixed  air  from  open  wine.  Men's 
spirits  are  like  water,  which  sparkles  when  it  runs, 
but  stagnates  in  still  pools,  and  is  mantled  with 
green,  and  breeds  corruption  and  filth.  The  ap- 
plause of  conscience,  the  self-respect  of  pride,  the 
consciousness  of  independence,  a  manly  joy  of  use- 
fulness, the  consent  of  every  faculty  of  the  mind  to 
one's  occupation,  and  their  gratification  in  it — these 
constitute  a  happiness  superior  to  the  fever-flashes 
of  vice  in  its  brightest  moments.  After  an  expe- 
rience of  ages,  which  has  taught  nothing  from  this, 
men  should  have  learned,  that  satisfaction  is  not  the 
product  of  excess,  or  of  indolence,  or  of  riches ;  but 
of  industry,  temperance,  and  usefulness.  Every 
village  has  instances  which  ought  to  teach  young 
men,  that  he,  who  goes  aside  from  the  simplicity  of 
nature,  and  the  purity  of  virtue,  to  wallow  in  ex- 
cesses, carousals,  and  surfeits,  at  length  misses  the 


IDLENESS.  25 

errand  oi  his  life  ;  and  sinking  with  shattered  body 
prematurely  to  a  dishonored  grave,  mourns  that  he 
mistook  exhilaration  for  satisfaction,  and  abandoned 
the  very  home  of  happiness,  when  he  forsook  the 
labors  of  useful  Industry. 

The  poor  man  with  Industry,  is  happier  than  the 
rich  man  in  Idleness ;  for  labor  makes  the  one  more 
manly,  and  riches  unmans  the  other.  The  slave  is 
often  happier  than  the  master,  who  is  nearer  un- 
done by  license  than  his  vassal  by  toil.  Luxurious 
couches — plushy  carpets  from  oriental  looms — pil- 
lows of  eider-down — carriages  contrived  with  cush- 
ions and  springs  to  make  motion  imperceptible, — is 
the  indolent  master  of  these  as  happy  as  the  slave 
that  wove  the  carpet,  the  Indian  who  hunted  the 
northern  flock,  or  the  servant  who  drives  the  pam- 
pered steeds?  Let  those  who  envy  the  gay  revels 
of  city  idlers,  and  pine  for  their  masquerades,  their 
routs,  and  their  operas,  experience  for  a  week  the 
lassitude  of  their  satiety,  the  unarousable  torpor  of 
their  life  when  not  under  a  fiery  stimulus,  their  des- 
perate ennui,  and  restless  somnolency,  they  would 
gladly  flee  from  their  haunts  as  from  a  land  of  cursed 
enchantment. 

2.  Industry  is  the  parent  of  thrift.  In  the  over- 
burdened states  of  Europe,  the  severest  toil  often 
only  suflices  to  make  life  a  wretched  vacillation  be- 
3 


26  INDUSTRY   AND 

tween  food  and  famine ;  but  in  America,  Industry  is 
prosperity. 

Although  God  has  stored  the  world  with  an  end- 
less variety  of  riches  for  man's  wants,  he  has  made 
them  all  accessible  only  to  Industry.  The  food 
we  eat,  the  raiment  which  covers  us,  the  house 
which  protects,  must  be  secured  by  diligence.  To 
tempt  man  yet  more  to  Industry,  every  product  of 
the  earth  has  a  susceptibility  of  improvement ;  so 
that  man  not  only  obtains  the  gifts  of  nature  at  the 
price  of  labor,  but  these  gifts  become  more  precious 
as  we  bestow  upon  them  greater  skill  and  cultiva- 
tion. The  wheat  and  maize  which  crown  our  ample 
fields,  were  food  fit  but  for  birds,  before  man  per- 
fected them  by  labor.  The  fruits  of  the  forest  and 
the  hedge,  scarcely  tempting  to  the  extremest  hun- 
ger, after  skill  has  dealt  with  them  and  transplanted 
them  to  the  orchard*  and  the  garden,  allure  every 
sense  with  the  richest  colors,  odors,  and  flavors. 
The  world  is  full  of  germs  which  man  is  set  to 
develop;  and  there  is  scarcely  an  assignable \limit, 
to  which  the  hand  of  skill  and  labor  may  not  bear 
the  powers  of  nature. ■ 

The  scheming  speculations  of  the  last  ten  years 
have  produced  an  aversion  among  the  young  to  the 
slow  accumulations  of  ordinary  Industry,  and  fired 
them  with  a  conviction  that  shrewdness,  cunning, 


IDLENESS.  27 

and  bold  ventures,  are  a  more  manly  way  to  wealth. 
There  is  a  swarm  of  men,  bred  in  the  heats  of  ad- 
venturous times,  whose  thoughts  scorn  pence  and 
farthings,  and  who  humble  themselves  to  speak  of 
dollars ; — hundreds  and  thousands  are  their  words. 
They  are  men  of  great  operations.  Forty  thousand 
dollars  is  a  moderate  profit  of  a  single  speculation. 
They  mean  to  own  the  Bank ;  and  to  look  down, 
before  they  die,  upon  Astor  and  Girard.  The  young 
farmer  becomes  almost  ashamed  to  meet  his  school- 
mate, whose  stores  line  whole  streets,  whose  stocks 
are  in  every  bank  and  company,  and  whose  increas- 
ing money  is  already  well  nigh  inestimable.  But 
if  the  butterfly  derides  the  bee  in  summer,  he  was 
never  known  to  do  it  in  the  lowering  days  of 
autumn. 

Every  few  years,  Commerce- has  its  earthquakes, 
and  the  tall  and  toppling -.wa^houses  which  haste 
ran  up,  are  first  shaken  down. .  The  hearts  of  men 
fail  them  for  fear;  and  the  suddenly  rich,  made 
more  -suddenly  poor,  fill  the  land  with  their  loud 
laments.  But  nothing  strange  has  happened.  When 
the  whole  story  of  commercial  disasters  is  told,  it 
is  only  found  out  that  they,  who  slowly  amassed 
the  gains  of  useful  Industry,  built  upon  a  rock  ; 
and  they,  who  flung  together  the  imaginary  mil- 
lions  of   commercial   speculations,   built   upon   the 


SO  INDUSTRY   AND 

sand.  When  times  grew  dark,  and  the  winds 
came,  and  the  floods  descended  and  beat  upon  them 
both — the  rock  sustained  the  one,  and  the  shifting 
sand  let  down  the  other.  If  a  young  man  has  no 
higher  ambition  in  life  than  riches,  Industry — plain, 
rugged,  brown-faced,  homely  clad,  old-fashioned  In- 
f  V^^^^dustry,  must  be  courted.  Young  men  are  pressed 
with  a  most  unprofitable  haste.  They  wish  to  reap 
before  they  have  ploughed  or  sown.  Everything  is 
driving  at  such  a  rate,  that  they  have  become  giddy. 
Laborious  occupations  are  avoided.  Money  is  to 
be  earned  in  genteel  leisure,  with  the  help  of  fine 
clothes,  and  by  the  soft  seductions  of  smooth  hair 
and  luxuriant  whiskers. 

Parents,  equally  wild,  foster  the  delusion.  Shall 
the  promising  lad  be  apprenticed  to  his  uncle,  the 
blacksmith  ?  The  sisters  think  the  blacksmith  so 
very  smutty ;  the  mother  shrinks  from  the  ungen- 
tility  of  his  swarthy  labor :  the  father,  weighing  the 
matter  prudentially  deeper,  finds  that  a  whole  life 
had  been  spent  in  earning  the  uncle's  property. 
These  sagacious  parents,  wishing  the  tree  to  bear  its 
fruit  before  it  has  ever  blossomed,  regard  the  long 
delay  of  industrious  trades  as  a  fatal  objection  to 
them.  The  son,  then,  must  be  a  rich  merchant,  or  a 
popular  lawyer,  or  a  broker ;  and  these,  only  as  the 
openings  to  speculation. 


IDLENESS.  29 

Young  business  men  are  often  educated  in  two 
very  unthrifty  species  of  contempt ;  a  contempt  for 
small  gains,  and  a  contempt  for  hard  labor.  To  do 
one's  own  errands,  to  wheel  one's  own  barrow,  to 
be  seen  with  a  bundle,  bag,  or  burden,  is  disrepu- 
table. Men  are  so  sharp  now-a-days,  that  they  can 
compass  by  their  shrewd  heads,  what  their  fathers 
used  to  do  with  their  heads  and  hands.  "*■* 

3.  Industry  gives  character  and  credit  to  the 
young.  The  reputable  portions  of  society  have  max- 
ims of  prudence,  by  which  the  young  are  judged 
and  admitted  to  their  good  opinion.  Does  he  regard 
his  word  ?  Is  he  industrious  ?  Is  he  economical  7  Is 
he  free  from  immoral  habits  ?  The  answer  which 
a  young  man's  conduct  gives  to  these  questions, 
settles  his  reception  among  good  men.  Experience 
has  shown  that  the  other  good  qualities  of  veracity, 
frugality,  and  modesty,  are  apt  to  be  associated 
with  industry.  A  prudent  man  would  scarcely  be 
persuaded  that  a  listless,  lounging  fellow,  would  be 
economical  or  trust- worthy.  An  employer  would 
judge  wisely,  that  where  there  was  little  regard  for 
time,  or  for  occupation,  there  would  be  as  little, 
upon  temptation,  for  honesty  or  veracity.  Pilfer- 
ings  of  the  till,  and  robberies,  are  fit  deeds  for  idle 
clerks,  and  lazy  apprentices.  Industry  and  knavery 
are  sometimes  found  associated;  but  men  wonder 
3* 


30  INDUSTRY    AND 

at  it,  as  at  a  strange  thing.  The  epithets  of  society, 
which  betoken  its  experience,  are  all  in  favor  of 
Industry.  Thus,  the  terms  "  a  hard  working  man ;" 
"an  industrious  man;"  "a  laborious  artisan;"  are 
employed  to  mean,  an  honest  man;  a  trust-worthy 
man. 

I  may  here,  as  well  as  anywhere,  impart  the 
secret  of  what  is  called  good  and  bad  luck.  There 
are  men  who,  supposing  Providence  to  have  an  im- 
placable spite  against  them,  bemoan  in  the  poverty 
of  a  wretched  old  age  the  misfortunes  of  their  lives. 
Luck  forever  ran  against  them,  and  for  others. 
One,  with  a  good  profession,  lost  his  luck  in  the 
river,  where  he  idled  away  his  time  a  fishing,  when 
he  should  have  been  in  the  office.  Another,  with  a 
good  trade,  perpetually  burnt  up  his  luck  by  his  hot 
temper,  which  provoked  all  his  employers  to  leave 
him.  Another,  with  a  lucrative  business,  lost  his 
luck  by  amazing  diligence  at  everything  but  his 
business.  Another,  who  steadily  followed  his  trade, 
as  steadily  followed  his  bottle.  Another,  who  was 
honest  and  constant  to  his  work,  erred  by  perpetual 
misjudgments ; — he  lacked  discretion.  Hundreds 
lose  their  luck  by  indorsing ;  by  sanguine  specula- 
tions ;  by  trusting  fraudulent  men ;  and  by  dishonest 
gains.  A  man  never  has  good  luck  who  has  a  bad 
wife.     I  never  knew  an  early-rising,  hard-working, 


IDLENESS.  31 

prudent  man,  careful  of  his  earnings,  and  strictly 
honest  who  complained  of  bad  luck.  A  good  char- 
acter, good  habits,  and  iron  industry,  are  impreg- 
nable to  the  assaults  of  all  the  ill  luck  that  fools 
ever  dreamed  of.  But  when  I  see  a  tatterdemalion, 
creeping  out  of  a  grocery  late  in  the  forenoon,  with 
his  hands  stuck  into  his  pockets,  the  rim  of  his  hat 
turned  up,  and  the  crown  knocked  in,  I  know  he  has 
had  bad  luck, — for  the  worst  of  all  luck,  is  to  be  a 
sluggard,  a  knave,  or  a  tippler.  ~" 

4.  Industry  is  a  substitute  for  Genius.  Where 
one  or  more  faculties  exist  in  the  highest  state  of 
development  and  activity, — as  the  faculty  of  music 
in  Mozart, — invention  in  Fulton, — ideality  in  Mil- 
ton,— we  call  their  possessor  a  genius.  But  a  genius 
is  usually  understood  to  be  a  creature  of  such  rare 
facility  of  mind,  that  he  can  do  anything  without 
labor.  According  to  the  popular  notion,  he  learns 
without  study,  and  knows  without  learning.  He  is 
eloquent  without  preparation  ;  exact  without  calcu- 
lation ;  and  profound  without  reflection.  While 
ordinary  men  toil  for  knowledge  by  reading,  by 
comparison,  and  by  minute  research,  a  genius  is  sup- 
posed to  receive  it  as  the  mind  receives  dreams.  His 
mind  is  like  a  vast  cathedral,  through  whose  colored 
windows  the  sunlight  streams,  painting  the  aisles 
with  the  varied  colors  of  brilliant  pictures.  Such 
minds  may  exist. 


32  INDUSTRY   AND 

So  far  as  my  observations  have  ascertained  the 
species,  they  abound  in  academies,  colleges,  and 
Thespian  societies ;  in  village  debating  clubs ;  in 
coteries  of  young  artists,  and  among  young  profes- 
sional aspirants.  They  are  to  be  known  by  a 
reserved  air,  excessive  sensitiveness,  and  utter  indo- 
lence ;  by  very  long  hair,  and  very  open  shirt  collars  ; 
by  the  reading  of  much  wretched  poetry,  and  the  wri- 
ting of  much,  yet  more  wretched ;  by  being  very 
conceited,  very  affected,  very  disagreeable,  and  very 
useless: — beings  whom  no  man  wants  for  friend, 
pupil,  or  companion. 

The  occupations  of  the  great  man,  and  oi  the 
common  man,  are  necessarily,  for  the  most  part,  the 
same ;  for  the  business  of  life  is  made  up  of  minute 
affairs,  requiring  only  judgment  and  diligence.  A 
high  order  of  intellect  is  required  for  the  discovery 
and  defence  of  truth ;  but  this  is  an  unfrequent  task. 
Where  the  ordinary  wants  of  life  once  require  recon- 
dite principles,  they  will  need  the  application  of 
familiar  truths  a  thousand  times.  Those  who  en- 
large the  bounds  of  knowledge,  must  push  out  with 
bold  adventure  beyond  the  common  walks  of  men. 
But  only  a  few  pioneers  are  needed  for  the  largest 
armies,  and  a  few  profound  men  in  each  occupation 
may  herald  the  advance  of  all  the  business  of  society. 
The  vast  bulk  of  men  are   required  to  discharge 


IDLENESS.  33 

the  homely  duties  of  life ;  and  they  have  less  need 
of  genius  than  of  intellectual  Industry  and  patient 
Enterprise.  Young  men  should  observe,  that  those 
who  take  the  honors  and  emoluments  of  mechanical 
crafts,  of  commerce  and  of  professional  life,  are 
rather  distinguished  for  a  sound  judgment  and  a 
close  application,  than  for  a  brilliant  genius.  In  the 
ordinary  business  of  life,  Industry  can  do  anything 
which  Genius  can  do;  and  very  many  things  which 
it  cannot.  Genius  is  usually  impatient  of  applica- 
tion, irritable,  scornful  of  men's  dulness,  squeamish 
at  petty  disgusts : — it  loves  a  conspicuous  place,  a 
short  work,  and  a  large  reward.  It  loathes  the 
sweat  of  toil,  the  vexations  of  life,  and  the  dull 
burden  of  care. 

Industry  has  a  firmer  muscle,  is  less  annoyed  by 
delays  and  repulses,  and,  like  water,  bends  itself  to 
the  shape  of  the  soil  over  which  it  flows ;  and  if 
checked,  will  not  rest,  but  accumulates,  and  mines  a 
passage  beneath,  or  seeks  a  side-race,  or  rises  above 
and  overflows  the  obstruction.  What  Genius  per- 
forms at  one  impulse,  Industry  gains  by  a  succes- 
sion of  blows.  In  ordinary  matters  they  differ  only 
in  rapidity  of  execution,  and  are  upon  one  level 
before  men, — who  see  the  result  but  not  the  process. 

It  is  admirable  to  know  that  those  things  which 
in  skill,  in  art,  and  in  learning,  the  world  has  been 


34  INDUSTRY   AND 

unwilling  to  let  die,  have  not  only  been  the  concep- 
tions of  genius,  but  the  products  of  toil.  The  mas- 
terpieces of  antiquity,  as  well  in  literature,  as  in 
art,  are  known  to  have  received  their  extreme  finish, 
from  an  almost  incredible  continuance  of  labor  upon 
them.  I  do  not  remember  a  book  in  all  the  depart- 
ments of  learning,  nor  a  scrap  in  literature,  nor  a 
work  in  all  the  schools  of  art,  from  which  its  author 
has  derived  a  permanent  renown,  that  is  not  known 
to  have  been  long  and  patiently  elaborated.  Genius 
needs  Industry,  as  much  as  Industry  needs  Genius. 
If  only  Milton's  imagination  could  have  conceived 
his  visions,  his  consummate  industry  only  could 
have  carved  the  immortal  lines  which  enshrine 
them.  If  only  Newton's  mind  could  reach  out  to 
the  secrets  of  Nature,  even  his  could  only  do  it  by 
the  homeliest  toil.  The  works  of  Bacon  are  not 
midsummer-night  dreams,  but,  like  coral  islands, 
they  have  risen  from  the  depths  of  truth,  and  formed 
their  broad  surfaces  above  the  ocean  by  the  minutest 
accretions  of  persevering  labor.  The  conceptions 
of  Michael  Angelo  would  have  perished  like  a 
night's  phantasy,  had  not  his  industry  given  them 
permanence. 

From  enjoying  the  pleasant  walks  of  Industry  we 
turn  reluctantly  to  explore  the  paths  of  Indolence. 

All  degrees  of  Indolence   incline  a  man   to  rely 


IDLENESS.  35 

upon  others,  and  not  upon  himself;  to  eat  their 
bread  and  not  his  own.  His  carelessness  is  some- 
body's loss ;  his  neglect  is  somebody's  downfall ; 
his  promises  are  a  perpetual  stumbling  block  to  all 
who  trust  them.  If  he  borrows,  the  article  remains 
borrowed;  if  he  begs  and  gets,  it  is  as  the  letting 
out  of  waters — no  one  knows  when  it  will  stop. 
He  spoils  your  work ;  disappoints  your  expecta- 
tions ;  exhausts  your  patience ;  eats  up  your  sub- 
stance ;  abuses  your  confidence ;  and  hangs  a  dead 
weight  upon  all  your  plans  ;  and  the  very  best  thing 
an  honest  man  can  do  with  a  lazy  man,  is  to  get 
rid  of  him.  Solomon  says  :  Bray  a  fool  with  a 
pestle,  in  a  mortar  with  wheat,  yet  will  not  his  folly 
depart  from  him.  He  does  not  mention  what  kind 
of  a  fool  he  meant ;  but  as  he  speaks  of  a  fool  by 
preeminence,  I  take  it  for  granted  he  meant  a  lazy 
?nan ;  and  I  am  the  more  inclined  to  the  opinion, 
from  another  expression  of  his  experience :  As  vin- 
egar to  the  teeth,  and  smoke  to  the  eyes,  so  is  the 
sluggard  to  them  that  send  him. 

Indolence  is  a  great  spendthrift.  An  indolently 
inclined  young  man,  can  neither  make  nor  keep 
property.  I  have  high  authority  for  this :  He  that 
is  slothful  in  his  work,  is  brother  to  him  that  is  a 
great  waster. 

When  Satan  would  put  ordinary  men  to  a  crop 


6b  INDUSTRY   AND 

of  mischief,  like  a  wise  husbandman,  he  clears  the 
ground  and  prepares  it  for  seed ;  but  he  finds  the 
ridle  man  already  prepared,  and  he  has  scarcely  the 
trouble  of  sowing ;  for  vices,  like  weeds,  ask  little 
strewing,  except  what  the  wind  gives  their  ripe  and 
winged  seeds,  shaking  and  scattering  them  all 
abroad.  Indeed,  lazy  men  may  fitly  be  likened  to  a 
tropical  prairie,  over  which  the  wind  of  temptation 
perpetually  blows,  drifting  every  vagrant  seed  from 
hedge  and  hill,  and  which — without  a  moment's 
rest  through  all  the  year — waves  its  rank  harvest 
of  luxuriant  weeds. 

First,  the  imagination  will  be  haunted  with  un- 
lawful visitants.  Upon  the  outskirts  of  towns  are 
shattered  houses,  abandoned  by  reputable  persons. 
They  are  not  empty,  because  all  the  day  silent; 
thieves,  vagabonds  and  villains  haunt  them,  in  joint 
possession  with  rats,  bats,  and  vermin.  Such  are 
idle  men's  imaginations — full  of  unlawful  company. 

The  imagination  is  closely  related  to  the  passions, 
and  fires  them  with  its  heat.  The  day-dreams  of 
indolent  youth,  glow  each  hour  with  warmer  colors, 
and  bolder  adventures.  The  imagination  fashions 
scenes  of  enchantment,  in  which  the  passions  revel ; 
and  it  leads  them  out,  in  shadow  at  first,  to  deeds 
which  soon  they  will  seek  in  earnest.  The  brilliant 
colors  of  far-away  clouds,  are  but  the  colors  of  the 
storm;  the  salacious  day-dreams  of  indolent  men, 


L 


IDLENESS.  37 

rosy  at  first  and  distant,  deepen  every  day,  darker 
and  darker,  to  the  color  of  actual  evil.  Then  fol- 
lows the  blight  of  every  habit.  Indolence  promises 
without  redeeming  the  pledge;  a  mist  of  forgetful- 
ness  rises  up  and  obscures  the  memory  of  vows  and 
oaths.  The  negligence  of  laziness  breeds  more 
falsehoods  than  the  cunning  of  the  sharper.  As 
poverty  waits  upon  the  steps  of  Indolence,  so,  upon 
such  poverty,  brood  equivocations,  subterfuges, 
lying  denials.  Falsehood  becomes  the  instrument 
of  every  plan.  Negligence  of  truth,  next  occasional 
falsehood,  then  wanton  mendacity, — these  three 
strides  traverse  the  whole  road  of  lies. 

Indolence  as  surely  runs  to  dishonesty,  as  to 
lying.  Indeed,  they  are  but  different  parts  of  the 
same  road,  and  not  far  apart.  In  directing  the  con- 
duct of  the  Ephesian  converts,  Paul  says,  Let  him 
that  stole,  steal  no  more,  but  rather  let  him  labor, 
working  with  his  hands  the  thing  which  is  good. 
The  men  who  were  thieves,  were  those  who  had 
ceased  to  work.  Industry  was  the  road  back  to 
honesty.  When  stores  are  broken  open,  the  idle 
are  first  suspected.  The  desperate  forgeries  and 
swindlings  of  past  years  have  taught  men,  upon 
their  occurrence,  to  ferret  their  authors  among  the 
unemployed,  or  among  those  vainly  occupied  in 
vicious  pleasures. 
4 


38  INDUSTRY   AND 

The  terrible  passion  for  stealing  rarely  grows 
upon  the  young,  except  through  the  necessities  of 
their  idle  pleasures.  Business  is  first  neglected  for 
amusement,  and  amusement  soon  becomes  the  only 
business.  The  appetite  for  vicious  pleasure  out- 
runs the  means  of  procuring  it.  The  theatre,  the 
circus,  the  card-table,  the  midnight  carouse,  demand 
money.  When  scanty  earnings  are  gone,  the  young 
man  pilfers  from  the  till.  First,  because  he  hopes 
to  repay,  and  next,  because  he  despairs  of  paying — 
for  the  disgrace  of  stealing  ten  dollars  or  a  thou- 
sand will  be  the  same,  but  not  their  respective 
pleasures.  Next,  he  will  gamble,  since  it  is  only 
another  form  of  stealing.  Gradually  excluded  from 
reputable  society,  the  vagrant  takes  all  the  badges 
of  vice,  and  is  familiar  with  her  paths;  and,  through 
them,  enters  the  broad  road  of  crime.  Society  pre- 
cipitates its  lazy  members,  as  water  does  its  filth ; 
and  they  form  at  the  bottom,  a  pestilent  sediment, 
stirred  up  by  every  breeze  of  evil,  into  riots,  rob- 
beries and  murders.  Into  it  drains  all  the  filth,  and 
out  of  it,  as  from  a  morass,  flow  all  the  streams  of 
pollution.  Brutal  wretches,  desperately  haunted  by 
the  law,  crawling  in  human  filth,  brood  here  their 
villain  schemes,  and  plot  mischief  to  man.  Hither 
resorts  the  truculent  demagogue,  to  stir  up  the  foetid 
filth  against  his  adversaries,  or  to  bring  up  mobs  out 


IDLENESS.  39 

of  this  sea,  which  cannot  rest,  but  casts  up  mire  and 
dirt. 

The  results  of  Indolence  upon  communities,  are 
as  marked  as  upon  individuals.  In  a  town  of  indus- 
trious people,  the  streets  would  be  clean;  houses 
neat  and  comfortable ;  fences  in  repair ;  school-houses 
swarming  with  rosy-faced  children,  decently  clad, 
and  well-behaved.  The  laws  would  be  respected, 
because  justly  administered.  The  church  would 
be  thronged  with  devout  worshippers.  The  tavern 
would  be  silent,  and  for  the  most  part  empty,  or  a 
welcome  retreat  for  weary  travellers.  Grog-sellers 
would  faiL,  and  mechanics  grow  rich;  labor  would 
be  honorable,  and  loafing  a  disgrace.  For  music, 
the  people  would  have  the  blacksmith's  anvil,  and 
the  carpenter's  hammer ;  and  at  home,  the  spinning- 
wheel,  and  girls  cheerfully  singing  at  their  work. 
Debts  would  be  seldom  paid,  because  seldom  made ; 
but  if  contracted,  no  grim  officer  would  be  invited  to 
the  settlement.  Town-officers  would  be  respectable 
men,  taking  office  reluctantly,  and  only  for  the  public 
good.  Public  days  would  be  full  of  sports,  without 
fighting ;  and  elections  would  be  as  orderly  as  wed- 
dings or  funerals. 

In  a  town  of  lazy-men,  I  should  expect  to  find 
crazy  houses,  shingles  and  weather-boards  knocked 
off;  doors  hingeless,  and  all  a-creak  :  windows  stuffed 


40  INDUSTRY   AND 

with  rags,  hats,  or  pillows.  Instead  of  flowers  in 
summer,  and  warmth  in  winter,  every  side  of  the 
house  would  swarm  with  vermin  in  hot  weather — 
and  with  starveling  pigs  in  cold ;  fences  would  be 
curiosities  of  lazy  contrivance,  and  gates  himg  with 
ropes,  or  lying  flat  in  the  mud.  Lank  cattle  would 
follow  every  loaded  wagon,  supplicating  a  morsel, 
with  famine  in  their  looks.  Children  would  be 
ragged,  dirty,  saucy ;  the  school-house  empty ;  the 
jail  full ;  the  church  silent ;  the  grog-shops  noisy ; 
and  the  carpenter,  the  saddler,  and  the  blacksmith, 
would  do  their  principal  work  at  taverns.  Lawyers 
would  reign ;  constables  flourish,  and  hunt  sneaking 
criminals;  burly  justices,  (as  their  interests  might 
dictate,)  would  connive  a  compromise,  or  make  a 
commitment.  The  peace-officers  would  wink  at 
tumults,  arrest  rioters  in  fun,  and  drink  with  them 
in  good  earnest.  Good  men  would  be  obliged  to 
keep  dark,  and  bad  men  would  swear,  fight,  and 
rule  the  town.  Public  days  would  be  scenes  of 
confusion,  and  end  in  rows ;  elections  would  be 
drunken,  illegal,  boisterous  and  brutal. 

The  young  abhor  the  last  results  of  Idleness ;  but 
they  do  not  perceive  that  the  first  steps  lead  to  the 
last.  They  are  in  the  opening  of  this  career;  but 
with  them  it  is  genteel  leisure,  not  laziness ;  it  is 
relaxation,   not   sloth ;    amusement,   not   indolence. 


IDLENESS.  41 

But  leisure,  relaxation,  and  amusement,  when  men 
ought  to  be  usefully  engaged,  are  Indolence.  A  spe- 
cious Industry  is  the  worst  Idleness.  A  young  man 
perceives  that  the  first  steps  lead  to  the  last,  with 
everybody  but  himself.  He  sees  others  become 
drunkards  by  social  tippling, — he  sips  socially,  as 
if  he  could  not  be  a  drunkard.  He  sees  others  be- 
come dishonest,  by  petty  habits  of  fraud ;  but  will 
indulge  slight  aberrations,  as  if  he  could  not  become 
knavish.  Though  others,  by  lying,  lose  all  charac- 
ter, he  does  not  imagine  that  his  little  dalliances 
with  falsehood  will  make  him  a  liar.  He  knows 
that  salacious  imaginations,  villanous  pictures,  har- 
lot snuff-boxes,  and  illicit  familiarities,  have  led 
thousands  to  her  door,  whose  house  is  the  way  to 
hell ;  yet  he  never  sighs  or  trembles  lest  these  things 
should  take  him  to  this  inevitable  way  of  damna- 
tion! 

In  reading  these  strictures  upon  Indolence,  you 
will  abhor  it  in  others,  without  suspecting  it  in 
yourself.  While  you  read,  I  fear  you  are  excusing 
yourself;  you  are  supposing  that  your  leisure  has 
not  been  laziness;  or  that,  with  your  disposition, 
and  in  your  circumstances,  Indolence  is  harmless. 
Be  not  deceived :  if  you  are  idle,  you  are  on  the 
road  to  ruin  :  and  there  are  few  stopping  places  upon 
it.  It  is  rather  a  precipice,  than  a  road.  While  I 
4* 


42  INDUSTRY   AND 

point  out  the  temptation  to  Indolence,  scrutinize  your 
course,  and  pronounce  honestly  upon  your  risk. 

1.  Some  are  tempted  to  Indolence  by  their 
wretched  training,  or  rather,  wretched  want  of  it. 
How  many  families  are  the  most  remiss,  whose  low 
condition  and  sufferings  are  the  strongest  induce- 
ment to  Industry.  The  children  have  no  inher- 
itance, yet  never  work ;  no  education,  yet  are  never 
sent  to  school.  It  is  hard  to  keep  their  rags  around 
them,  yet  none  of  them  will  earn  better  raiment.  If 
ever  there  was  a  case  when  a  Government  should 
interfere  between  parent  and  child,  that  seems  to  be 
the  one,  where  children  are  started  in  life  with  an 
education  of  vice.  If,  in  every  community,  three 
things  should  be  put  together,  which  always  work 
together,  the  front  would  be  a  grogshop, — the  middle 
a  jail, — the  rear  a  gallows  ; — an  infernal  trinity ;  and 
the  recruits  for  this  three-headed  monster,  are  largely 
drafted  from  the  lazy  children  of  worthless  parents. 

2.  The  children  of  rich  parents  are  apt  to  be  reared 
in  Indolence.  The  ordinary  motives  to  industry  are 
wanting,  and  the  temptations  to  sloth  are  multiplied. 
Other  men  labor  to  provide  a  support ;  to  amass 
wealth ;  to  secure  homage ;  to  obtain  power ;  to 
multiply  the  elegant  products  of  art.  The  child  of 
affluence  inherits  these  things.  Why  should  he 
labor  who  may  command  universal  service,  whose 


IDLENESS.  43 

money  subsidizes  the  inventions  of  art,  exhausts 
the  luxuries  of  society,  and  makes  rarities  common 
by  their  abundance?  Only  the  blind  would  not 
see  that  riches  and  ruin  run  in  one  channel  to  prod- 
igal children.  The  most  rigorous  regimen,  the  most 
confirmed  industry,  and  steadfast  morality  can  alone 
disarm  inherited  wealth,  and  reduce  it  to  a  bles- 
sing. The  profligate  wretch,  who  fondly  watches 
his  father's  advancing  decrepitude,  and  secretly 
curses  the  lingering  steps  of  death,  (seldom  too  slow 
except  to  hungry  heirs,)  at  last  is  overblessed  in 
the  tidings  that  the  loitering  work  is  done — and  the 
estate  his.  When  the  golden  shower  has  fallen,  he 
rules  as  a  prince  in  a  court  of  expectant  parasites. 
All  the  sluices  by  which  pleasurable  vice  drains  an 
estate  are  opened  wide.  A  few  years  complete  the 
ruin.  The  hopeful  heir,  avoided  by  all  whom  he 
has  helped,  ignorant  of  useful  labor,  and  scorning  a 
knowledge  of  it,  fired  with  an  incurable  appetite  for 
vicious  excitement,  sinks  steadily  down, — a  profli- 
gate, a  wretch,  a  villain-scoundrel,  a  convicted  felon. 
Let  parents  who  hate  their  offspring  rear  them  to 
hate  labor,  and  to  inherit  riches,  and  before  long 
they  will  be  stung  by  every  vice,  racked  by  its 
poison,  and  damned  by  its  penalty. 

3.    Another  cause  of  Idleness  is  found  in  the  secret 
effects  of  youthful  indulgence.    The  purest  pleasures 


44  INDUSTRY    AND 

lie  within  the  circle  of  useful  occupation.  Mere 
pleasure, — sought  outside  of  usefulness, — existing  by 
*&-*  A  s****^  itself, — is  fraught  with  poison.  When  its  exhilar- 
ation has  thoroughly  kindled  the  mind,  the  passions 
thenceforth  refuse  a  simple  food;  they  crave  and 
£*  require  an   excitement,   higher  than   any  ordinary 

occupation  can  give.  After  revelling  all  night  in 
wine-dreams,  or  amid  the  fascinations  of  the  dance, 
or  the  deceptions  of  the  drama,  what  has  the  dull 
store,  or  the  dirty  shop,  which  can  continue  the  pulse 
at  this  fever-heat  of  delight  1  The  face  of  Pleasure 
to  the  youthful  imagination,  is  the  face  of  an  angel, 
a  paradise  of  smiles,  a  home  of  love ;  while  the 
rugged  face  of  Industry,  embrowned  by  toil,  is  dull 
and  repulsive :  but  at  the  end  it  is  not  so.  These 
are  harlot  charms  which  Pleasure  wears.  At  last, 
when  Industry  shall  put  on  her  beautiful  gar- 
ments, and  rest  in  the  palace  which  her  own  hands 
have  built, — Pleasure,  blotched  and  diseased  with 
indulgence,  shall  lie  down  and  die  upon  the  dung- 
hill. 

4.  Example  leads  to  Idleness.  The  children  of 
industrious  parents  at  the  sight  of  vagrant  rovers 
seeking  their  sports  wherever  they  will,  disrelish 
labor,  and  envy  this  unrestrained  leisure.  At  the 
first  relaxation  of  parental  vigilance,  they  shrink 
from  their  odious  tasks.     Idleness  is  begun  when 


IDLENESS.  45 

labor  is  a  burden,  and  industry  a  bondage,  and  only- 
idle  relaxation  a  pleasure. 

The  example  of  political  men,  office-seekers,  and 
public  officers,  is  not  usually  conducive  to  Industry. 
The  idea  insensibly  fastens  upon  the  mind,  that  )f  u  . 
greatness  and  hard  labor  are  not  companions.  The 
inexperience  of  youth  imagines  that  great  men  are 
men  of  great  leisure.  They  see  them  much  in  pub- 
lic, often  applauded,  and  greatly  followed.  How 
disgusting  in  contrast  is  the  mechanic's  life;  a  tink- 
ering shop, — dark  and  smutty, — is  the  only  theatre 
of  his  exploits ;  and  labor,  which  covers  him  with 
sweat  and  fills  him  with  weariness,  brings  neither 
notice  nor  praise.  The  ambitious  apprentice,  sigh- 
ing over  his  soiled  hands,  hates  his  ignoble  work ; — 
neglecting  it,  he  aspires  to  better  things, — plots  in  a 
caucus ;  declaims  in  a  bar-room ;  fights  in  a  grog- 
shop ;  and  dies  in  a  ditch. 

5.  But  the  Indolence  begotten  by  venal  ambition 
must  not  be  so  easily  dropped.  At  those  periods  of 
occasional  disaster  when  embarrassments  cloud  the 
face  of  commerce,  and  trade  drags  heavily,  sturdy 
laborers  forsake  industrial  occupations,  and  petition 
for  office.  Had  I  a  son  able  to  gain  a  livelihood  by 
toil,  I  had  rather  bury  him,  than  witness  his  beg- 
garly supplications  for  office  ; — sneaking  along  the 
path  of  men's  passions  to  gain  his  advantage ;  hold- 


46  INDUSTRY   AND 

ing  in  the  breath  of  his  honest  opinions ;  and  breath- 
J'  ing  feigned  words  of  flattery  to  hungry  ears,  popular 
or  official ;  and  crawling,  viler  than  a  snake,  through 
all  the  unmanly  courses  by  which  ignoble  wretches 
purloin  the  votes  of  the  dishonest,  the  drunken,  and 
the  vile. 

The  late  reverses  of  commerce  have  unsettled  the 
habits  of  thousands.  Manhood  seems  debilitated, 
and  many  sturdy  yeomen  are  ashamed  of  nothing 
but  labor.  For  a  farthing-pittance  of  official  salary, 
— for  the  miserable  fees  of  a  constable's  office, — for 
the  parings  and  perquisites  of  any  deputyship, — a 
hundred  men  in  every  village,  rush  forward, — 
scrambling,  jostling,  crowding, — each  more  obse- 
Ji  quious  than  the  other  to  lick  the  hand  that  holds  the 
omnipotent  vote,  or  the  starveling  office.  The  most 
supple  cunning  gains  the  prize.  Of  the  disappointed 
crowd,  a  few,  rebuked  by  their  sober  reflections,  go 
back  to  their  honest  trade, — ashamed  and  cured  of 
office-seeking.  But  the  majority  grumble  for  a  day, 
then  prick  forth  their  ears,  arrange  their  feline  arts, 
and  mouse  again  for  another  office.  The  general 
appetite  for  office  and  disrelish  for  industrial  call- 
ings, is  a  prolific  source  of  Idleness ;  and  it  would 
be  well  for  the  honor  of  young  men  if  they  were 
bred  to  regard  office  as  fit  only  for  those  who  have 
clearly  shown  themselves  able  and  willing  to  sup- 


IDLENESS.  47 

port  their  families  without  it.     No  office  can  make  a    )i 
worthless  man  respectable ;  and  a  man  of  integrity, 
thrift,  and  religion,  has  name  enough  without  badge 
or  office. 

6.  Men  become  Indolent  through  the  reverses  of 
fortune.  Surely,  despondency  is  a  grievous  thing, 
and  a  heavy  load  to  bear.  To  see  disaster  and 
wreck  in  the  present,  and  no  light  in  the  future ;  but 
only  storms,  lurid  by  the  contrast  of  past  prosperity, 
and  growing  darker  as  they  advance; — to  wear  a 
constant  expectation  of  woe  like  a  girdle ;  to  see  want 
at  the  door,  imperiously  knocking,  while  there  is  no 
strength  to  repel,  or  courage  to  bear  its  tyranny; — 
indeed,  this  is  dreadful  enough.  But  there  is  a  thing 
more  dreadful.  It  is  more  dreadful  if  the  man  is  .)■ 
wrecked  with  his  fortune.  Can  anything  be  more 
poignant  in  anticipation,  than  one's  ownself,  un- 
nerved, cowed  down  and  slackened  to  utter  pliancy, 
and  helplessly  drifting  and  driven  down  the  troubled 
sea  of  life  ?  Of  all  things  on  earth,  next  to  his  God, 
a  broken  man  should  cling  to  a  courageous  Industry. 
If  it  brings  nothing  back,  and  saves  nothing,  it  will 
save  him.  To  be  pressed  down  by  adversity  has 
nothing  in  it  of  disgrace ;  but  it  is  disgraceful  to  lie  J  | 
down  under  it  like  a  supple  dog.  Indeed,  to  stand 
composedly  in  the  storm,  amidst  its  rage  and  wildest 
devastations ;  to  let  it  beat  over  you.  and  roar  around 


} 


48  INDUSTRY   AND    IDLENESS. 

you,  and  pass  by  you,  and  leave  you  undismayed, — 
this  is  to  be  a  man.  Adversity  is  the  mint  in  which 
God  stamps  upon  us  his  image  and  superscription. 
In  this  matter  men  may  learn  of  insects.  The  ant 
will  repair  his  dwelling  as  often  as  the  mischievous 
foot  crushes  it ;  the  spider  will  exhaust  life  itself, 
before  he  will  live  without  a  web  ; — the  bee  can  be 
decoyed  from  his  labor  neither  by  plenty  nor  scarcity. 
If  summer  be  abundant  it  toils  none  the  less ;  if  it  be 
parsimonious  of  flowers,  the  tiny  laborer  sweeps  a 
wider  circle,  and  by  Industry,  repairs  the  frugality 
of  the  season.  Man  should  be  ashamed  to  be  re- 
buked in  vain  by  the  spider,  the  ant,  and  the  bee. 
-) 

Seest  thou  a  man  diligent  in  his  business,  he  shall 
stand  before  kings,  he  shall  not  stand  before  mean 
men. 


LECTUKE  II. 


Providing  for  honest  things,  not  only  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord,  but  also  io 
the  sight  of  men.    2  Cor.  viii.  21. 


Only  extraordinary  circumstances  can  give  the 
appearance  of  dishonesty  to  an  honest  man.  Usu- 
ally, not  to  seem  honest,  is  not  to  be  so.  The 
quality  must  not  be  doubtful  like  twilight,  lingering 
between  night  and  day  and  taking  hues  from  both ; 
it  must  be  day-light,  clear,  and  effulgent.  This  is 
the  doctrine  of  the  Bible :  Providing  for  honest 
things,  7iot  only  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord,  but  also  in 
the  sight  of  men.  In  general  it  may  be  said  that  no 
one  has  honesty  without  dross,  until  he  has  honesty 
without  suspicion. 

We  are  passing  through  times  upon  which  the 
seeds  of  dishonesty  have  been  sown  broadcast,  and 
they  have  brought  forth  a  hundred  fold.  These 
times  will  pass  away ;  but  like  ones  will  come 
again.  As  physicians  study  the  causes  and  record 
the  phenomena  of  plagues  and  pestilences,  to  draw 
5 


50  TWELVE    CAUSES 

from  them  an  antidote  against  their  recurrence,  so 
should  we  leave  to  another  generation  a  history  of 
moral  plagues,  as  the  best  antidote  to  their  recurring 
malignity. 

Upon  a  land, — capacious  beyond  measure,  whose 
prodigal  soil  rewards  labor  with  an  unharvestable 
abundance  of  exuberant  fruits,  occupied  by  a  people 
signalized  by  enterprise  and  industry, — there  came 
a  summer  of  prosperity  which  lingered  so  long 
and  shone  so  brightly,  that  men  forgot  that  winter 
could  ever  come.  Each  day  grew  brighter.  No 
reins  were  put  upon  the  imagination.  Its  dreams 
passed  for  realities.  Even  sober  men,  touched  with 
wildness,  seemed  to  expect  a  realization  of  oriental 
tales.  Upon  this  bright  day  came  sudden  frosts, 
storms,  and  blight.'  Men  awoke  from  gorgeous 
dreams  in  the  midst  of  desolation.  The  harvests 
of  years  were  swept  away  in  a  day.  The  strongest 
firms  were  rent  as  easily  as  the  oak  by  lightning. 
Speculating  companies  were  dispersed  as  seared 
leaves  from  a  tree  in  autumn.  Merchants  were 
ruined  by  thousands;  clerks  turned  adrift  by  ten 
thousands.  Mechanics  were  left  in  idleness.  Farm- 
ers sighed  over  flocks  and  wheat  as  useless  as  the 
stones  and  dirt.  The  wide  sea  of  commerce  was 
stagnant ;  upon  the  realm  of  Industry  settled  down 
a  sullen  lethargy.    L,    ,         )* 


OF    DISHONESTY.  51 

Out  of  this  reverse  swarmed  an  unnumbered  host 
of  dishonest  men,  like  vermin  from  a  carcass. 
Banks  were  exploded, — or  robbed, — or  fleeced  by- 
astounding  forgeries.  Mighty  companies,  without 
cohesion,  went  to  pieces,  and  hordes  of  wretches 
snatched  up  every  bale  that  came  ashore.  Cities 
were  ransacked  by  troops  of  villains.  The  unpar- 
alleled frauds,  which  sprung  like  mines  on  every 
hand,  set  every  man  to  trembling  lest  the  next  ex- 
plosion should  be  under,  his  own  feet.  Fidelity 
seemed  to  have  forsaken  men.  Many  that  had  earn- 
ed a  reputation  for  sterling  honesty  were  cast  so  sud- 
denly headlong  into  wickedness,  that  man  shrank 
from  man.  Suspicion  overgrew  confidence,  and  the 
heart  bristled  with  the  nettles  and  thorns  of  fear  and 
jealousy.  Then  had  almost  come  to  pass  the  divine 
delineation  of  ancient  wickedness :  The  good  man 
is  perished  out  of  the  earth :  and  there  is  none  up- 
right among  men :  they  all  lie  in  wait  for  blood  ; 
they  hunt  every  man  his  brother  with  a  net.  That 
they  may  do  evil  with  both  hands  earnestly,  the 
prince  and  the  judge  ask  for  a  reward :  and  the  great 
man  utter eth  his  mischievous  desire  ;  so  they  wrap  it 
up.  The  best  of  them  is  a  brier;  the  most  upright 
is  sharper  than  a  thorn  hedge.  The  world  looked 
upon  a  continent  of  inexhaustible  fertility,  (whose 
harvest  had  glutted  the  markets,  and  rotted  in  dis- 


1 


D*  TWELVE    CAUSES 

use,)  filled  with  lamentation,  and  its  inhabitants 
wandering  like  bereaved  citizens  among  the  ruins 
of  an  earthquake,  mourning  for  children,  for  houses 
crushed,  and  property  buried  forever.  ^ 

That  no  measure  might  be  put  to  the  calamity, 
the  Church  of  God,  which  rises  a  stately  tower  of 
refuge  to  desponding  men,  seemed  now  to  have  lost 
its  power  of  protection.  When  the  solemn  voice  of 
Religion  should  have  gone  over  the  land,  as  the  call 
of  God  to  guilty  man  to  seek  in  him  their  strength ; 
in  this  time  when  Religion  should  have  restored 
sight  to  the  blind,  made  the  lame  to  walk,  and 
bound  up  the  broken-hearted,  she  was  herself 
mourning  in  sackcloth.  Out  of  her  courts  came  the 
noise  of  warring  sects;  some  contending  against 
others  with  bitter  warfare ;  and  some,  possessed  of 
a  demon,  wallowed  upon  the  ground  foaming  and 
rending  themselves.  In  a  time  of  panic,  and  disas- 
ter, and  distress,  and  crime,  the  fountain  which 
should  have  been  for  the  healing  of  men,  cast  up  its 
sediments,  and  gave  out  a  bitter  stream  of  pollution. 

In  every  age,  an  universal  pestilence  has  hushed 
the  clamor  of  contention,  and  cooled  the  heats  of 
parties;  but  the  greatness  of  our  national  calamity 
seemed  only  to  enkindle  the  fury  of  political  parties. 
Contentions  never  ran  with  such  deep  streams  and 
impetuous  currents,  as  amidst  the  ruin  of  our  indus- 


OF    DISHONESTY.  53 

try  and  prosperity.  States  were  greater  debtors  to 
foreign  nations,  than  their  citizens  were  to  each 
other.  Both  states  and  citizens  shrunk  back  from 
their  debts,  and  yet  more  dishonestly  from  the  taxes 
necessary  to  discharge  them.  The  General  Govern- 
ment did  not  escape,  but  lay  becalmed,  or  pursued 
its  course,  like  a  ship,  at  every  furlong  touching 
the  rocks,  or  beating  against  the  sands.  The  Capitol 
trembled  with  the  first  waves  of  a  question  which 
is  yet  to  shake  the  whole  land.  New  questions 
of  exciting  qualities  perplexed  the  realm  of  legisla- 
tion, and  of  morals.  To  all  this  must  be  added  a 
manifest  decline  of  family  government ;  an  increase 
of  the  ratio  of  popular  ignorance;  a  decrease  of 
reverence  for  law,  and  an  effeminate  administration 
of  it.  Popular  tumults  have  been  as  frequent  as 
freshets  in  our  rivers;  and  like  them,  have  swept 
over  the  land  with  desolation,  and  left  their  filthy  )\ 
slime  in  the  highest  places  : — upon  the  press  ; — upon  ^ 
the  legislature; — in  the  halls  of  our  courts; — and 
even  upon  the  sacred  bench  of  Justice.  If  unsettled 
times  foster  dishonesty,  it  should  have  flourished 
among  us.     And  it  has. 

Our   nation   must  expect  a  periodical   return  of 

such  convulsions ;  but   experience   should   steadily 

curtail   their   ravages,    and   remedy   their   immoral 

tendencies.     Young  men  have  before  them  lessons 

5* 


~n 


54  TWELVE    CAUSES 

of  manifold  wisdom  taught  by  the  severest  of  mas- 
ters— experience.  They  should  be  studied ;  and 
that  they  may  be,  I  shall,  from  this  general  survey, 
turn  to  a  specific  enumeration  of  the  causes  of  dis- 
honesty. 

1.  Some  men  find  in  their  bosom  from  the  first, 
a  vehement  inclination  to  dishonest  ways.  Kna- 
vish propensities  are  inherent :  born  with  the  child 
and  transmissible  from  parent  to  son.  The  children 
of  a  sturdy  thief,  if  taken  from  him  at  birth  and 
reared  by  honest  men,  would,  doubtless,  have  to 
contend  against  a  strongly  dishonest  inclination. 
Foundlings  and  orphans  under  public  charitable 
charge,  are  more  apt  to  become  vicious  than  other 
children.  They  are  usually  born  of  low  and  vicious 
parents,  and  inherit  their  parents'  propensities. 
Only  the  most  thorough  moral  training  can  overrule 
this  innate  depravity. 

2.  A  child  naturally  fair-minded,  may  become 
dishonest  by  parental  example.  He  is  early  taught 
to  be  sharp  in  bargains,  and  vigilant  for  every 
advantage.  Little  is  said  about  honesty,  and  much 
upon  shrewd  traffic.  A  dexterous  trick,  becomes  a 
family  anecdote;  visitors  are  regaled  with  the  boy's 
precocious  keenness.  Hearing  the  praise  of  his  ex- 
ploits, he  studies  craft,  and  seeks  parental  admira- 
tion  by  adroit   knaveries.     He   is   taught,    for   his 


OF    DISHONESTY.  55 

safety,  that  he  must  not  range  beyond  the  law :  that 
would  be  unprofitable.  He  calculates  his  morality 
thus :  Legal  honesty  is  the  best  policy, — dishon- 
esty, then,  is  a  bad  bargain — and  therefore  wrong 
— everything  is  wrong  which  is  unthrifty.  What- 
ever profit  breaks  no  legal  statute — though  it  is 
gained  by  falsehood,  by  unfairness,  by  gloss ; 
through  dishonor,  unkindness,  and  an  unscrupulous 
conscience — he  considers  fair,  and  says:  The  law 
allows  it.  Men  may  spend  a  long  life  without  an 
indictable  action,  and  without  an  honest  one.  No  j 
law  can  reach  the  insidious  ways  of  subtle  craft. 
The  law  allows,  and  religion  forbids  men,  to  profit 
by  others'  misfortunes,  to  prowl  for  prey  among  the 
ignorant,  to  overreach  the  simple,  to  suck  the  last 
life-drops  from  the  bleeding;  to  hover  over  men 
as  a  vulture  over  herds,  swooping  down  upon  the 
weak,  the  straggling,  and  the  weary.  The  infernal 
craft  of  cunning  men,  turns  the  law  itself  to  piracy, 
and  works  outrageous  fraud  in  the  hall  of  Courts, 
by  the  decision  of  judges,  and  under  the  seal  of 
Justice. 

3.  Dishonesty  is  learned  from  one's  employers. 
The  boy  of  honest  parents  and  honestly  bred,  goes 
to  a  trade,  or  a  store,  where  the  employer  practises 
legal  frauds.  The  plain  honesty  of  the  boy  excites 
roars  of  laughter  among  the  bett^/  taught  clerks. 


56  TWELVE    CAUSES 

The  master  tells  them  that  such  blundering  truth- 
fulness must  be  pitied ;  the  boy  evidently  has  been 
neglected,  and  is  not  to  be  ridiculed  for  what  he 
could  not  help.  At  first,  it  verily  pains  the  youth's 
scruples,  and  tinges  his  face  to  frame  a  deliberate 
dishonesty,  to  finish,  and  to  polish  it.  His  tongue 
stammers  at  a  lie ;  but  the  example  of  a  rich  mas- 
ter, the  jeers  and  gibes  of  shopmates,  with  gradual 
practice,  cure  all  this.  He  becomes  adroit  in  fleec- 
ing customers  for  his  master's  sake,  and  equally 
dexterous  in  fleecing  his  master  for  his  own  sake. 

4.  Extravagance  is  a  prolific  source  of  dishon- 
esty. Extravagance, — which  is  foolish  expense,  or 
expense  disproportionate  to  one's  means, — may  be 
found  in  all  grades  of  society ;  but  it  is  chiefly  ap- 
parent among  the  rich,  those  aspiring  to  wealth, 
and  those  wishing  to  be  thought  affluent.  Many  a 
young  man  cheats  his  business,  by  transferring  his 
means  to  theatres,  race-courses,  expensive  parties, 
and  to  the  nameless  and  numberless  projects  of 
pleasure.  The  enterprise  of  others  is  baffled  by  the 
extravagance  of  their  family;  for  few  men  can 
,  make  as  much  in  a  year  as  an  extravagant  woman 
can  carry  on  her  back  in  one  winter.  Some  are 
ambitious  of  fashionable  society,  and  will  gratify 
their  vanity  at  any  expense.  This  disproportion 
between  means  and  expense  soon  brings  on  a  crisis. 


OF    DISHONESTY.  57 

The  victim  is  straitened  for  money ;  without  it  he 
must  abandon  his  rank ;  for  fashionable  society 
remorselessly  rejects  all  butterflies  which  have  lost 
their  brilliant  colors.  Which  shall  he  choose,  hon- 
esty and  mortifying  exclusion,  or  gaiety  purchased 
by  dishonesty?  The  severity  of  this  choice  some- 
times sobers  the  intoxicated  brain;  and  a  young  man 
shrinks  from  the  gulf,  appalled  at  the  darkness  of 
dishonesty.  But  to  excessive  vanity,  high-life  with 
or  without  fraud,  is  Paradise;  and  any  other  life 
Purgatory.  Here  many  resort  to  dishonesty  with- 
out a  scruple.  It  is  at  this  point  that  public  senti- 
ment half  sustains  dishonesty.  It  scourges  the 
thief  of  Necessity,  and  pities  the  thief  of  Fashion. 

The  struggle  with  others  is  on  the  very  ground 
of  honor.  A  wife  led  from  affluence  to  frigid  penury 
and  neglect;  from  leisure  and  luxury  to  toil  and 
want ;  daughters,  once  courted  as  rich,  to  be  dises- 
teemed  when  poor, — this  is  the  gloomy  prospect, 
seen  through  a  magic  haze  of  despondency.  Honor, 
love  and  generosity,  strangely  bewitched,  plead  for 
dishonesty  as  the  only  alternative  to  such  suffering.  S 
But  go,  young  man,  to  your  wife;  tell  her  the  alter- 
native; if  she  is  worthy  of  you,  she  will  face  your 
poverty  with  a  courage  which  shall  shame  your 
fears,  and  lead  you  into  its  wilderness  and  through 
it,  all  unshrinking.    Many  there  be  who  went  weep- 


58  TWELVE    CAUSES 

ing  into  this  desert,  and  ere  long,  having  found  in 
it  the  fountains  of  the  purest  peace,  have  thanked 
God  for  the  pleasures  of  poverty.  But  if  your  wife 
unmans  your  resolution,  imploring  dishonor  rather 
than  penury,  may  God  pity  and  help  you  !  You 
dwell  with  a  sorceress,  and  few  can  resist  her  wiles. 
5.  Debt  is  an  inexhaustible  fountain  of  Dishon- 
esty. The  Royal  Preacher  tells  us :  The  borrower 
is  servant  to  the  lender.  Debt  is  a  rigorous  servi- 
tude. The  debtor  learns  the  cunning  tricks,  delays, 
concealments,  and  frauds,  by  which  slaves  evade  or 
cheat  their  master.  He  is  tempted  to  make  ambig- 
uous statements;  pledges,  with  secret  passages  of 
escape ;  contracts,  with  fraudulent  constructions ; 
lying  excuses,  and  more  mendacious  promises.  He 
is  tempted  to  elude  responsibility;  to  delay  settle- 
ments; to  prevaricate  upon  the  terms;  to  resist 
equity,  and  devise  specious  fraud.  When  the  eager 
creditor  would  restrain  such  vagrancy  by  law,  the 
debtor  then  thinks  himself  released  from  moral  obli- 
gation, and  brought  to  a  legal  game,  in  which  it  is 
lawful  for  the  best  player  to  win.  He  disputes  true 
accounts;  he  studies  subterfuges;  extorts  provoca- 
tions delays ;  and  harbors  in  every  nook,  and  corner, 
and  passage,  of  the  law's  labyrinth.  At  length  the 
measure  is  filled  up,  and  the  malignant  power  of 
debt  is  known.     It  has  opened  in  the  heart  every 


OF    DISHONESTY.  59 

fountain  of  iniquity;  it  has  besoiled  the  conscience; 
it  has  tarnished  the  honor ;  it  has  made  the  man  a 
deliberate  student  of  knavery ;  a  systematic  practi- 
tioner of  fraud:  it  has  dragged  him  through  all  the 
sewers  of  petty  passions, — anger,  hate,  revenge, 
malicious  folly,  or  malignant  shame.  When  a  debtoi 
is  beaten  at  every  point,  and  the  law  will  put  her 
screws  upon  him,  there  is  no  depth  in  the  gulf  of 
dishonesty  into  which  he  will  not  boldly  plunge. 
Some  men  put  their  property  to  the  flames,  assassi- 
nate the  detested  creditor,  and  end  the  frantic  trag- 
edy by  suicide,  or  the  gallows.  Others,  in  view  of 
the  catastrophe,  have  converted  all  property  to  cash, 
and  concealed  it.  The  law's  utmost  skill,  and  the 
creditor's  fury,  are  alike  powerless  now, — the  tree 
is  green  and  thrifty;  its  roots  drawing  a  copious 
supply  from  some  hidden  fountain. 

Craft  has  another  harbor  of  resort  for  the  piratical 
crew  of  dishonesty ;  viz. :  putting  the  property  out  of 
the  law's  reach  by  a  fraudulent  conveyance.  Who- 
ever runs  in  debt,  and  consumes  the  equivalent  of 
his  indebtedness ;  whoever  is  fairly  liable  to  damage 
for  broken  contracts ;  whoever  by  folly,  has  incur- 
red debts  and  lost  the  benefit  of  his  outlay ;  whoever 
is  legally  obliged  to  pay  for  his  malice  or  careless- 
ness; whoever  by  infidelity  to  public  trusts  has 
made  his  property  a  just  remuneration  for  his  de- 


60  TWELVE    CAUSES 

faults ; — whoever  of  all  these,  or  whoever,  under  any 
circumstances,  puts  out  of  his  hands  property,  mor- 
ally or  legally  due  to  creditors,  is  a  dishonest  man. 
The  crazy  excuses  which  men  render  to  their  con- 
sciences, are  only  such  as  every  villain  makes,  who 
is  unwilling  to  look  upon  the  black  face  of  his 
crimes. 

He  who  will   receive  a  conveyance  of  property, 

p       ,    knowing  it  to  be  illusive  and  fraudulent,  is  as  wicked 

as  the  principal ;   and  as  much  meaner,  as  the  tool 

and    subordinate   of    villany   is   meaner    than   the 

master  who  uses  him. 

If  a  church,  knowing  all  these  facts,  or  wilfully 
ignorant  of  them,  allows  a  member  to  nestle  in  the 
5; .„  security  of  the  sanctuary ;  then  the  act  of  this  rob- 
ber, and  the  connivance  of  the  church,  are  but  the 
two  parts  of  one  crime. 

6.  Bankruptcy,  although  a  branch  of  debt,  de- 
serves a  separate  mention.  It  sometimes  crushes  a 
man's  spirit,  and  sometimes  exasperates  it.  The 
poignancy  of  the  evil  depends  much  upon  the  dis- 
position of  the  creditors;  and  as  much  upon  the 
disposition  of  the  victim.  Should  tliey  act  with  the 
lenity  of  Christian  men,  and  he  with  manly  honesty, 
promptly  rendering  up  whatever  satisfaction  of  debt 
he  has, — he  may  visit  the  lowest  places  of  human 
adversity,  and   find  there  the  light  of  good   men's 


OF    DISHONESTY.  61 

esteem,  the  support  of  conscience,  and   the   suste- 
nance of  religion. 

A  bankrupt  may  fall  into  the  hands  of  men  whose 
tender-mercies  are  cruel ;  or  his  dishonest  equivo- 
cations may  exasperate  their  temper  and  provoke 
every  thorn  and  brier  of  the  law.  When  men's  pas- 
sions are  let  loose,  especially  their  avarice  whetted  -7 
by  real  or  imaginary  wrong;  when  there  is  a  rivalry 
among  creditors,  lest  any  one  should  feast  upon  the 
victim  more  than  his  share ;  and  they  all  rush  upon 
him  like  wolves  upon  a  wounded  deer,  dragging 
him  down,  ripping  him  open,  breast  and  flank, 
plunging  deep  their  bloody  muzzles  to  reach  the 
heart  and  taste  blood  at  the  very  fountain ; — is  it 
strange  that  resistance  is  desperate  and  unscrupu- 
lous? At  length  the  sufferer  drags  his  mutilated 
carcass  aside,  every  nerve  and  muscle  wrung  with 
pain,  and  his  whole  body  an  instrument  of  agony. 
He  curses  the  whole  inhuman  crew  with  envenomed 
imprecations;  and  thenceforth,  a  brooding  misan- 
thrope, he  pays  back  to  society,  by  studied  villanies, 
the  legal  wrongs  which  the  relentless  justice  of  a 
few,  or  his  own  knavery,  have  brought  upon  him. 

7.    There  is  a  circle  of  moral  dishonesties  prac-  )/ 
tised  because  the  law  allows  them.     The  very  anx- 
iety of  law  to  reach  the  devices  of  cunning,  so  per- 
plexes its  statutes  with  exceptions,  limitations,  and 
6 


*fl\ 


62  TWELVE    CAUSES 

supplements,  that  like  a  castle  gradually  enlarged 
for  centuries,  it  has  its  crevices,  dark  corners,  secret 
holes  and  winding  passages — an  endless  harbor  for 
rats  and  vermin,  where  no  trap  can  catch  them. 
We  are  villanously  infested  with  legal  rats  and  ras- 

)i  cals,  who  are  able  to  commit  the  most  flagrant  dis- 
honesties with  impunity.  They  can  do  all  of  wrong 
which  is  profitable,  without  that  part  which  is 
actionable.  The  very  ingenuity  of  these  miscreants 
excites  such  admiration  of  their  skill,  that  their  life 
is  gilded  with  a  specious  respectability.  Men  pro- 
fess little  esteem  for  blunt,  necessitous  thieves,  who 
rob  and  run  away;  but  for  a  gentleman  who  can 
break  the  whole  of  God's  law  so  adroitly,  as  to  leave 
man's  law  unbroken ;  who  can  indulge  in  such  con- 
servative stealing  that  his  fellow-men  award  him 

(  a  rank  among  honest  men  for  the  excessive  skill 
of  his  dishonesty — for  such  an  one,  I  fear,  there  is 
almost  universal  sympathy. 

8.  Political  Dishonesty,  breeds  dishonesty  of 
every  kind.  It  is  possible  for  good  men  to  permit 
single  sins  to  coexist  with  general  integrity,  where 
the  evil  is  indulged  through  ignorance.  Once, 
undoubted  Christians  were  slave-traders.  They 
might  be,  while  unenlightened ;  but  not  in  our 
times.  A  state  of  mind  which  will  intend  one  fraud, 
will,  upon  occasions,  intend  a  thousand.     He  that 


OF    DISHONESTY.  63 


upon  one  emergency  will  lie,  will  be  supplied  with 
emergencies.  He  that  will  perjure  himself  to  save 
a  friend,  will  do  it,  in  a  desperate  juncture,  to  save  - 
himself.  The  highest  Wisdom  has  informed  us  that 
He  that  is  unjust  in  the  least,  is  unjust  also  in  much. 
Circumstances  may  withdraw  a  politician  from 
temptation  to  any  but  political  dishonesty ;  but 
under  temptation,  a  dishonest  politician  would  be  a 
dishonest  cashier, — would  be  dishonest  anywhere,  )i 
— in  anything.  The  fury  which  destroys  an  oppo- 
nent's character,  would  stop  at  nothing,  if  barriers 
were  thrown  down.  Triat  which  is  true  of  the 
leaders  in  politics,  is  true  of  subordinates.  Political 
dishonesty  in  voters  runs  into  general  dishonesty,  as  ~- 
the  rotten  speck  taints  the  whole  apple.  A  commu- 
nity whose  politics  are  conducted  by  a  perpetual 
breach  of  honesty  on  both  sides,  will  be  tainted  by 
immorality  throughout.  Men  will  play  the  same 
game  in  their  private  affairs,  which  they  have 
learned  to  play  in  public  matters.  The  guile,  the 
crafty  vigilance,  the  dishonest  advantage,  the  cun- 
ning sharpness  ; — the  tricks  and  traps  and  sly  eva- 
sions; the  equivocal  promises,  and  unequivocal 
neglect  of  them,  which  characterize  political  action, 
will  equally  characterize  private  action.  The  mind 
has  no  kitchen  to  do  its  dirty  work  in,  while  the 
parlor  remains  clean.    Dishonesty  is  an  atmosphere ; 


31 


64  TWELVE    CAUSES 

if  it  comes  into  one  apartment,  it  penetrates  into 
every  one.  Whoever  will  lie  in  politics,  will  lie  in 
traffic.  Whoever  will  slander  in  politics,  will  slan- 
der in  personal  squabbles.  A  professor  of  religion 
who  is  a  dishonest  politician,  is  a  dishonest  Christian. 
His  creed  is  a  perpetual  index  of  his  hypocrisy. 

The  genius  of  our  government  directs  the  atten- 
tion of  every  citizen  to  politics.  Its  spirit  reaches 
the  uttermost  bound  of  society,  and  pervades  the 
whole  mass.  If  its  channels  are  slimy  with  corrup- 
tion, what  limit  can  be  set  to  its  malign  influence? 
The  turbulence  of  elections,  the  virulence  of  the 
press,  the  desperation  of  bad  men,  the  hoplessness 
of  efforts  which  are  not  cunning,  but  only  honest, 
have  driven  many  conscientious  men  from  any 
concern  with  politics.  This  is  suicidal.  Thus  the 
tempest  will  grow  blacker  and  fiercer.  Our  youth 
will  be  caught  up  in  its  whirling  bosom  and  dashed 
to  pieces,  and  its  hail  will  break  down  every  green 
thing.  At  God's  house  the  cure  should  begin.  Let 
the  hand  of  discipline  smite  the  leprous  lips  which 
shall  utter  the  profane  heresy:  All  is  fair  in  poli- 
tics. If  any  hoary  professor,  drunk  with  the  min- 
gled wine  of  excitement,  shall  tell  our  youth,  that  a 
Christian  man  may  act  in  politics  by  any  other  rule 
of  morality  than  that  of  the  Bible;  and  that  wicked- 
ness  performed  for  a  party,  is  not  as  abominable, 


OF    DISHONESTY.  65 

as  if  done  for  a  man  ;  or  that  any  necessity  justifies 
or  palliates  dishonesty  in  word  or  deed, — let  such  an 
one  go  out  of  the  camp,  and  his  pestilent  breath  no 
longer  spread  contagion  among  our  youth.  No  man 
who  loves  his  country,  should  shrink  from  her  side 
when  she  groans  with  raging  distempers.  Let 
every  Christian  man  stand  in  his  place;  rebuke 
every  dishonest  practice ;  scorn  a  political  as  well  as 
a  personal  lie;  and  refuse  with  indignation  to  be 
insulted  by  the  solicitation  of  an  immoral  man.  Let 
good  men  of  all  parties  require  honesty,  integrity, 
veracity,  and  morality  in  politics,  and  there,  as 
powerfully  as  anywhere  else,  the  requisitions  of 
public  sentiment  will  ultimately  be  felt.     J' 

9.  A  corrupt  public  sentiment  produces  dishon- 
esty. A  public  sentiment,  in  which  dishonesty  is 
not  disgraceful ;  in  which  bad  men  are  respectable, 
are  trusted,  are  honored,  are  exalted — is  a  curse  to 
the  young.  The  fever  of  speculation,  the  universal 
derangement  of  business,  the  growing  laxness  of  . 
morals,  is,  to  an  alarming  extent,  introducing  such 
a  state  of  things.  Men  of  notorious  immorality, 
whose  dishonesty  is  flagrant,  whose  private  habits 
would  disgrace  the  ditch,  are  powerful  and  popular. 
I  have  seen  a  man  stained  with  every  sin,  except 
those  which  required  courage  ;  into  whose  head  I 
do  not  think  a  pure  thought  has  entered  for  forty 
6* 


</ 


66  TWELVE    CAUSES 

years ;  in  whose  heart  an  honorable  feeling  would 
ji  droop  for  very  loneliness ; — in  evil  he  was  ripe  and 
rotten ;  hoary  and  depraved  in  deed,  in  word,  in  his 
present  life  and  in  all  his  past ;  evil  when  by  him- 
self, and  viler  among  men;  corrupting  to  the  young; 
— to  domestic  fidelity,  a  recreant ;  to  common  honor, 
a  traitor;  to  honesty,  an  outlaw;  to  religion,  a 
hypocrite ; — base  in  all  that  is  worthy  of  man,  and 
accomplished  in  whatever  is  disgraceful;  and  yet 
this  wretch  could  go  where  he  would ;  enter  good 
men's  dwellings,  and  purloin  their  votes.  Men 
would  curse  him,  yet  obey  him;  hate  him  and 
assist  him ;  warn  their  sons  against  him,  and  lead 
them  to  the  polls  for  him.  A  public  sentiment  which 
produces  ignominious  knaves,  cannot  breed  honest 
men. 

Any  calamity,  civil  or  commercial,  which  checks 
the  administration  of  justice  between  man  and  man, 
is  ruinous  to  honesty.  The  violent  fluctuations  of 
business  cover  the  ground  with  rubbish  over  which 
men  stumble;  and  fill  the  air  with  dust,  in  which 
all  the  shapes  of  honesty  appear  distorted.  Men 
are  thrown  upon  unusual  expedients;  dishonesties 
are  unobserved;  those  who  have  been  reckless  and 
profuse,  stave  ofT  the  legitimate  fruits  of  their  folly 
by  desperate  shifts.  We  have  not  yet  emerged  from 
a  period,  in  which  debts  were  insecure ;  the  debtor 


OF   DISHONESTY.  67 

legally  protected  against  the  rights  of  the  creditor ; 
taxes  laid,  not  by  the  requirements  of  justice,  but  for 
political  effect;  and  lowered  to  a  dishonest  insuffi- 
ciency; and  when  thus  diminished,  not  collected; 
the  citizens  resisting  their  own  officers;  officers  re- 
signing at  the  bidding  of  the  electors;  the  laws  of 
property  paralyzed;  bankrupt  laws  built  up;  and 
stay-laws  unconstitutionally  enacted,  upon  which 
the  courts  look  with  aversion,  yet  fear  to  deny  them, 
lest  the  wildness  of  popular  opinion  should  roll  back 
disdainfully  upon  the  bench,  to  despoil  its  dignity, 
and  prostrate  its  power.  General  suffering  has  made 
us  tolerant  of  general  dishonesty  ;  and  the  gloom  of 
our  commercial  disaster  threatens  to  become  the  pall 
of  our  morals. 

If  the  shocking  stupidity  of  the  public  mind  to 
atrocious  dishonesties  is  not  aroused ;  if  good  men 
do  not  bestir  themselves  to  drag  the  young  from  this 
foul  sorcery ;  if  the  relaxed  bands  of  honesty  are  not 
tightened,  and  conscience  intoned  to  a  severer  mo- 
rality, our  night  is  at  hand, — our  midnight  not  far 
off.  Woe  to  that  guilty  people  who  sit  down  upon 
broken  laws,  and  wealth  saved  by  injustice !  Woe 
to  a  generation  fed  upon  the  bread  of  fraud,  whose 
children's  inheritance  shall  be  a  perpetual  me- 
mento of  their  fathers'  unrighteousness;  to  whom 
dishonesty  shall  be   made   pleasant  by  association 


68  TWELVE    CAUSES 

with  the  revered  memories  of  father,  brother,  and 
friend ! 

But  when  a  whole  people,  united  by  a  common 
disregard  of  justice,  conspire  to  defraud  public  cred- 
itors; and  States  vie  with  States  in  an  infamous 
repudiation  of  just  debts,  by  open  or  sinister  methods ; 
and  nations  exert  their  sovereignty  to  protect  and 
dignify  the  knavery  of  a  Commonwealth ;  then  the 
confusion  of  domestic  affairs  has  bred  a  fiend,  before 
whose  flight  honor  fades  away,  and  under  whose 
feet  the  sanctity  of  truth  and  the  religion  of  solemn 
compacts  are  stamped  down  and  ground  into  the 
dirt.  Need  we  ask  the  causes  of  growing  dishonesty 
among  the  young,  and  the  increasing  untrustwor- 
thiness  of  all  agents,  when  States  are  seen  clothed 
with  the  panoply  of  dishonesty,  and  nations  put  on 
fraud  for  their  garments  ? 

Absconding  agents,  swindling  schemes,  and  defal- 
cations, occurring  in  such  melancholy  abundance, 
have  at  length  ceased  to  be  wonders,  and  rank  with 
the  common  accidents  of  fire  and  flood.  The  budget 
of  each  week  is  incomplete  without  its  mob  and  run- 
away cashier — its  duel  and  defaulter;  and  as  waves 
Avhich  roll  to  the  shore  are  lost  in  those  which  follow 
on,  so  the  villanies  of  each  week  obliterate  the 
record  of  the  last. 

The  mania  of  dishonesty  cannot  arise  from  local 


OF   DISHONESTY.  69 

causes ;  it  is  the  result  of  disease  in  the  whole  com- 
munity; an  eruption  betokening  foulness  of  the 
blood ;  blotches  symptomatic  of  a  disordered  system. 

10.  Financial  agents  are  especially  liable  to  the 
temptations  of  Dishonesty.  Safe  merchants,  and 
visionary  schemers ;  sagacious  adventurers,  and  rash 
speculators;  frugal  beginners,  and  retired  million- 
aires, are  constantly  around  them.  Every  word, 
every  act,  every  entry,  every  letter,  suggests  only 
wealth — its  germ,  its  bud,  its  blossom,  its  golden 
harvest.  Its  brilliance  dazzles  the  sight;  its  seduc- 
tions stir  the  appetites ;  its  power  fires  the  ambition, 
and  the  soul  concentrates  its  energies  to  obtain 
wealth,  as  life's  highest  and  only  joy. 

Besides  the  influence  of  such  associations,  direct 
dealing  in  money  as  a  commodity,  has  a  peculiar 
effect  upon  the  heart.  There  is  no  property  between 
it  and  the  mind ; — no  medium  to  mellow  its  light. 
The  mind  is  diverted  and  refreshed  by  no  thoughts 
upon  the  quality  of  soils;  the  durability  of  struc- 
tures; the  advantages  of  sites;  the  beauty  of  fab- 
rics ;  it  is  not  invigorated  by  the  necessity  of  labor 
and  ingenuity  which  the  mechanic  feels;  by  the 
invention  of  the  artisan,  or  the  taste  of  the  artist. 
The  whole  attention  falls  directly  upon  naked 
Money.  The  hourly  sight  of  it  whets  the  appetite,  / 
and  sharpens  it  to  avarice.     Thus,  with  an  intense 


70  TWELVE   CAUSES 

regard  of  riches,  steals  in  also  the  miser's  relish  of 
coin — that  insatiate  gazing  and  fondling,  by  which 
seductive  metal  wins  to  itself  all  the  blandishments 
of  love. 

Those  who  mean  to  be  rich,  often  begin  by  imita- 
ting the  expensive  courses  of  those  who  are  rich. 
They  are  also  tempted  to  venture,  before  they  have 
means  of  their  own,  in  brilliant  speculations.  How 
can  a  young  cashier  pay  the  drafts  of  his  illicit 
pleasures,  or  procure  the  seed,  for  the  harvest  of 
speculation,  out  of  his  narrow  salary?  Here  first 
begins  to  work  the  leaven  of  death.  The  mind 
wanders  in  dreams  of  gain;  it  broods  over  projects 
of  unlawful  riches ;  stealthily  at  first,  and  then  with 
less  reserve ;  at  last  it  boldly  meditates  the  possi- 
bility of  being  dishonest  and  safe.  When  a  man 
can  seriously  reflect  upon  dishonesty  as  a  possible 
and  profitable  thing,  he  is  already  deeply  dishonest. 
To  a  mind  so  tainted,  will  flock  stories  of  consum- 
mate craft,  of  effective  knavery,  of  fraud  covered  by 
its  brilliant  success.  At  times,  the  mind  shrinks 
from  its  own  thoughts,  and  trembles  to  look  down 
the  giddy  cliff  on  whose  edge  they  poise,  or  over 
which  they  fling  themselves  like  sporting  sea-birds. 
But  these  imaginations  will  not  be  driven  from  the 
heart  where  they  have  once  nested.  They  haunt  a 
man's  business,  visit  him  in  dreams,  and  vampire- 


OF    DISHONESTY.  71 

like,  fan  the  slumbers  of  the  victim  whom  they  will 
destroy.  In  some  feverish  hour,  vibrating  between 
conscience  and  avarice,  the  man  staggers  to  a  com- 
promise. To  satisfy  his  conscience  he  refuses  to 
steal;  and  to  gratify  his  avarice,  he  borrows  the 
funds ; — not  openly — not  of  owners — not  of  men  : 
but  of  the  till — the  safe — the  vault !    ■ ' 

He  resolves  to  restore  the  money  before  discovery 
can  ensue,  and  pocket  the  profits.  Meanwhile,  false 
entries  are  made,  perjured  oaths  are  sworn,  forged 
papers  are  filed.  His  expenses  grow  profuse,  and 
men  wonder  from  what  fountain  so  copious  a  stream 
can  flow. 

Let  us  stop  here  to  survey  his  condition.  He 
flourishes,  is  called  prosperous,  thinks  himself  safe. 
Is  he  safe,  or  honest?  He  has  stolen,  and  embarked 
the.  amount  upon  a  sea  over  which  wander  perpetual 
storms ;  where  wreck  is  the  common  fate,  and  escape 
the  accident ;  and  now  all  his  chance  for  the  sem- 
blance of  honesty,  is  staked  upon  the  return  of  his 
embezzlements  from  among  the  sands,  the  rocks  and 
currents,  the  winds  and  waves,  and  darkness,  of 
tumultuous  speculation.  At  length  dawns  the  day 
of  discovery.  His  guilty  dreams  have  long  foretok- 
ened it.  As  he  confronts  the  disgrace  almost  face  to 
face,  how  changed  is  the  hideous  aspect  of  his  deed, 
from  that  fair  face  of  promise  with  which  it  tempted 


72  TWELVE    CAUSES 

him !  Conscience,  and  honor,  and  plain  honesty, 
which  left  him  when  they  could  not  restrain,  now 
come  back  to  sharpen  his  anguish.  Overawed  by 
the  prospect  of  open  shame,  of  his  wife's  disgrace, 
and  his  children's  beggary,  he  cows  down,  and  slinks 
out  of  life  a  frantic  suicide. 

Some  there  be,  however,  less  supple  to  shame. 
They  meet  their  fate  with  cool  impudence ;  defy 
their  employers  ;  brave  the  court,  and  too  often  with 
success.  The  delusion  of  the  public  mind,  or  the 
confusion  of  affairs  is  such,  that,  while  petty  cul- 
prits are  tumbled  into  prison,  a  cool,  calculating  and 
immense  scoundrel  is  pitied,  dandled  and  nursed 
by  a  sympathizing  community.  In  the  broad  road 
slanting  to  the  rogue's  retreat,  are  seen  the  officer 
of  the  bank,  the  agent  of  the  state,  the  officer  of 
the  church,  in  indiscriminate  haste,  outrunning  a 
lazy  justice,  and  bearing  off  the  gains  of  astounding 
frauds.  Avarice  and  pleasure  seem  to  have  dis- 
solved the  conscience.  It  is  a  day  of  trouble  and  of 
perplexity  from  the  Lord.  We  tremble  to  think  that 
our  children  must  leave  the  covert  of  the  family, 
and  go  out  upon  that  dark  and  ycsty  sea,  from 
whose  wrath  so  many  wrecks  are  cast  up  at  our 
feet.  Of  one  thing  I  am  certain ;  if  the  church  of 
Christ  is  silent  to  such  deeds,  and  makes  her  altar  a 
refuge  to  such  dishonesty,  the  day  is  coming  when 


OF    DISHONESTY.  73 

she  shall  have  no  altar,  the  light  shall  go  out  from     ,     t    . 

U  f 
her  candlestick,  her  walls  shall  be  desolate,  and  the 

fox  look  out  at  her  windows. 

11.  Executive  clemency,  by  its  frequency,  has 
been  a  temptation  to  Dishonesty.  Who  will  fear  to 
be  a  culprit  when  a  legal  sentence  is  the  argument 
of  pity,  and  the  prelude  of  pardon?  What  can  the 
community  expect  but  growing  dishonesty,  when 
juries  connive  at  acquittals,  and  judges  condemn  , 
only  to  petition  a  pardon;  when  honest  men  and 
officers  fly  before  a  mob ;  when  jails  are  besieged  > 
and  threatened,  if  felons  are  not  relinquished ;  when 
the  Executive,  consulting  the  spirit  of  the  commu- 
nity, receives  the  demands  of  the  mob,  and  humbly 
complies,  throwing  down  the  fences  of  the  law,  that 
base  rioters  may  walk  unimpeded,  to  their  work  of 
vengeance,  or  unjust  mercy?  A  sickly  sentimental- 
ity too  often  enervates  the  administration  of  justice  ; 
and  the  pardoning  power  becomes  the  master-key  },-v_ 
to  let  out  unwashed,  unrepentant  criminals.  They 
have  fleeced  us,  robbed  us,  and  are  ulcerous  sores 
to  the  body  politic;  yet  our  heart  turns  to  water 
over  their  merited  punishment.  A  fine  young  fel- 
low, by  accident,  writes  another's  name  for  his  own; 
by  a  mistake  equally  unfortunate,  he  presents  it  at 
the  bank;  innocently  draws  out  the  large  amount; 
generously  spends  a  part,  and  absent-mindedly  hides 


74  TWELVE    CAUSES 

the  rest.  Hard-hearted  wretches  there  are,  who 
I  would  punish  him  for  this  !  Young  men,  admiring 
the  neatness  of  the  affair,  pity  his  misfortune,  and 
curse  a  stupid  jury  that  knew  no  better  than  to  send 
to  a  penitentiary,  him,  whose  skill  deserved  a  cashier- 
ship.  He  goes  to  his  cell,  the  pity  of  a  whole  me- 
tropolis. Bulletins  from  Sing-Sing  inform  us  daily 
what  Edwards  is  doing,  as  if  he  were  Napoleon  at 
St.  Helena.  At  length  pardoned,  he  will  go  forth 
again  to  a  renowned  liberty ! 

If  there  be  one  way  quicker  than  another,  by 
which  the  Executive  shall  assist  crime,  and  our 
laws  foster  it,  it  is  that  course  which  assures  every 
dishonest  man,  that  it  is  easy  to  defraud,  easy  to 
avoid  arrest,  easy  to  escape  punishment,  and  easiest 
of  all  to  obtain  a  pardon. 

12.  Commercial  speculations  are  prolific  of  Dis- 
honesty. Speculation  is  the  risking  of  capital  in 
enterprises  greater  than  we  can  control,  or  in  enter- 
prises whose  elements  are  not  at  all  calculable.  All 
calculations  of  the  future  are  uncertain ;  but  those 
which  are  based  upon  long  experience  approximate 
certainty,  while  those  which  are  drawn  by  sagacity 
from  probable  events,  are  notoriously  unsafe.  Un- 
less, however,  some  venture,  we  shall  forever  tread 
an  old  and  dull  path ;  therefore  enterprise  is  allowed 
to  pioneer  new  ways.     The  safe  enterpriser  explores 


OF   DISHONESTY.  75 

cautiously,  ventures  at  first  a  little,  and  increases 
the  venture  with  the  ratio  of  experience.  A  specu- 
lator looks  out  upon  the  new  region,  as  upon  a 
far-away  landscape,  whose  features  are  softened  to 
beauty  by  distance;  upon  a  hope,  he  stakes  that, 
which,  if  it  wins,  will  make  him;  and  if  it  loses, 
will  ruin  him.  When  the  alternatives  are  victory, 
or  utter  destruction,  a  battle  may,  sometimes,  still 
be  necessary.  But  commerce  has  no  such  alterna- 
tives; only  speculation  proceeds  upon  them. 

If  the  capital  is  borrowed,  it  is  as  dishonest,  upon 
such  ventures,  to  risk,  as  to  lose  it.  Should  a  man 
borrow  a  noble  steed  and  ride  among  incitements 
which  he  knew  would  rouse  up  his  fiery  spirit  to  an 
uncontrolable  height,  and  borne  away  with  wild 
speed,  be  plunged  over  a  precipice,  his  destruction 
might  excite  our  pity,  but  could  not  alter  our  opinion 
of  his  dishonesty.  He  borrowed  property,  and  en- 
dangered it  where  he  knew  that  it  would  be  uncon- 
trolable. 

If  the  capital  be  one's  own,  it  can  scarcely  be 
risked  and  lost,  without  the  ruin  of  other  men.  No 
man  could  blow  up  his  store  in  a  compact  street, 
and  destroy  only  his  own.  Men  of  business  are, 
like  threads  of  a  fabric,  woven  together,  and  subject, 
to  a  great  extent,  to  a  common  fate  of  prosperity 
or  adversity.     I  have  no  right  to  cut  on"  my  hand ; 


76  TWELVE    CAUSES 

I  defraud  myself,  my  family,  the  community,  and 
God ;  for  all  these  have  an  interest  in  that  hand. 
Neither  has  a  man  the  right  to  throw  away  his 
property.  He  defrauds  himself,  his  family,  the 
community  in  which  he  dwells:  for  all  these  have 
an  interest  in  that  property.  If  waste  is  dishon- 
esty, then  every  risk,  in  proportion  as  it  approaches 
it,  is  dishonest.  To  venture,  without  that  foresight 
which  experience  gives,  is  wrong;  and  if  we  cannot 
foresee,  then  we  must  not  venture. 

Scheming  speculation  demoralizes  honesty,  and 
almost  necessitates  dishonesty.  He  who  puts  his 
own  interests  to  rash  ventures,  will  scarcely  do 
better  for  others.  The  Speculator  regards  the 
"weightiest  affair  as  only  a  splendid  game.  Indeed, 
a  Speculator  on  the  exchange,  and  a  Gambler  at  his 
table,  follow  one  vocation,  only  with  different  in- 
struments. One  employs  cards  or  dice,  the  other 
property.  The  one  can  no  more  foresee  the  result 
of  his  schemes,  than  the  other  what  spots  will  come 
up  on  his  dice  ;  the  calculations  of  both  are  only  the 
chances  of  luck.  Both  burn  with  unhealthy  excite- 
ment ;  both  are  avaricious  of  gains,  but  careless  of 
what  they  win;  both  depend  more  upon  fortune  than 
skill;  they  have  a  common  distaste  for  labor;  with 
each,  right  and  wrong  are  only  the  accidents  of  a 
game ;  neither  wrould  scruple  in  any  hour  to  set  his 


OF    DISHONESTY.  77 

whole  being  on  the  edge  of  ruin,  and  going  over,  to 
pull  down,  if  possible,  a  hundred  others. 

The  wreck  of  such  men  leaves  them  with  a 
drunkard's  appetite,  and  a  fiend's  desperation.  The 
revulsion  from  extravagant  hopes,  to  a  certainty  of 
midnight  darkness ;  the  sensations  of  poverty,  to 
him  who  was  in  fancy  just  stepping  upon  a  princely 
estate ;  the  humiliation  of  gleaning  for  cents,  where 
he  has  been  profuse  of  dollars ;  the  chagrin  of  seeing 
old  competitors  now  above  him,  grinning  down 
upon  his  poverty  a  malignant  triumph ;  the  pity  of 
pitiful  men,  and  the  neglect  of  such  as  should  have 
been  his  friends, — and  who  were,  while  the  sun- 
shine lay  upon  his  path, — all  these  things,  like  so 
many  strong  winds,  sweep  across  the  soul  so  that  it 
cannot  rest  in  the  cheerless  tranquillity  of  honesty, 
but  casts  vp  mire  and  dirt.  How  stately  the  balloon 
rises  and  sails  over  continents,  as  over  petty  land- 
scapes !  The  slightest  slit  in  its  frail  covering, 
sends  it  tumbling  down,  swaying  widely,  whirling 
and  pitching  hither  and  thither,  until  it  plunges  into 
some  dark  glen,  out  of  the  path  of  honest  men, 
and  too  shattered  to  tempt  even  a  robber.  So  have 
we  seen  a  thousand  men  pitched  down ;  so  now,  in 
a  thousand  places  may  their  wrecks  be  seen.  But 
still  other  balloons  are  framing,  and  the  air  is  full 
of  victim-venturers. 
7* 


78  TWELVE    CAUSES 

If  our  young  men  are  introduced  to  life  with  dis- 
taste for  safe  ways,  because  the  sure  profits  are 
slow ;  if  the  opinion  becomes  prevalent  that  all 
business  is  great,  only  as  it  tends  to  the  uncertain, 
the  extravagant,  and  the  romantic;  then  we  may 
stay  our  hand  at  once,  nor  waste  labor  in  absurd 
expostulations  of  honesty.  I  had  as  lief  preach 
humanity  to  a  battle  of  eagles,  as  to  urge  honesty 
and  integrity  upon  those  who  have  determined  to  be 
rich,  and  to  gain  it  by  gambling  stakes,  and  mad- 
men's ventures. 

All  the  bankruptcies  of  commerce  are  harmless 
compared  with  a  bankruptcy  of  public  morals. 
Should  the  Atlantic  ocean  break  over  our  shores, 
and  roll  sheer  across  to  the  Pacific,  sweeping  every 
vestige  of  cultivation,  and  burying  our  wealth,  it 
would  be  a  mercy,  compared  to  that  ocean-deluge 
of  dishonesty  and  crime,  which,  sweeping  over  the 
whole  land,  has  spared  our  wealth  and  taken  our 
virtue.  What  are  cornfields  and  vineyards,  what 
are  stores  and  manufactures,  and  what  are  gold  and 
silver,  and  all  the  precious  commodities  of  the  earth, 
among  beasts? — and  what  are  men,  bereft  of  con- 
science and  honor,  but  beasts? 

We  will  forget  those  things  which  are  behind, 
and  hope  a  more  cheerful  future.  We  turn  to  you, 
young   men  ! — All  good   men,   all   patriots,  turn  to 


OF   DISHONESTY.  79 

watch  your  advance  upon  the  stage,  and  to  implore 
you  to  be  worthy  of  yourselves,  and  of  your  revered 
ancestry.  Oh  !  ye  favored  of  Heaven  !  with  a  free 
land,  a  noble  inheritance  of  wise  laws,  and  a  prodi- 
gality of  wealth  in  prospect, — advance  to  your  pos- 
sessions ! — May  you  settle  down,  as  did  Israel  of  old, 
a  people  of  God  in  a  promised  and  protected  land ; 
— true  to  yourselves,  true  to  your  country,  and  true 
to  your  God.  - 


LECTURE   III 


The  generation  of  the  upright  shall  be  blessed,  wealth  and  riches  shall  be 

in  his  house.    Ps.  cxii.  2,  3. 
He  that  getteth  riches,  and  not  by  right,  shall  leave  them  in  the  midst  of 

his  days,  and  at  the  end  shall  be  a  fool.    Jer.  xvii.  11. 

When  justly  obtained,  and  rationally  used,  riches 
are  called  a  gift  of  God,  an  evidence  of  his  favor, 
and  a  great  reward.  When  gathered  unjustly,  and 
corruptly  used,  wealth  is  pronounced  a  canker,  a 
rust,  a  fire,  a  curse.  There  is  no  contradiction, 
then,  when  the  Bible  persuades  to  industry,  and  in- 
tegrity, by  a  promise  of  riches ;  and  then  dissuades 
from  wealth,  as  a  terrible  thing,  destroying  soul 
and  body.  Blessings  are  vindictive  to  abusers,  and 
kind  to  rightful  users; — they  serve  us,  or  rule  us. 
Fire  warms  our  dwelling,  or  consumes  it.  Steam 
serves  man,  and  also  destroys  him.  Iron,  in  the 
plough,  the  sickle,  the  house,  the  ship,  is  indispen- 
sable. The  dirk,  the  assassin's  knife,  the  cruel 
sword  and  the  spear,  are  iron  also. 

The  constitution  of   man,  and  of   society,  alike 


SIX   WARNINGS.  81 

evinces  the  design  of  God.  Both  are  made  to  be 
happier  by  the  possession  of  riches ; — their  full  de- 
velopment and  perfection  are  dependent,  to  a  large 
extent,  upon  wealth.  Without  it,  there  can  be 
neither  books  nor  implements ;  neither  commerce 
nor  arts,  neither  towns  nor  cities.  It  is  a  folly  to 
denounce  that,  a  love  of  which  God  has  placed  in 
man  by  a  constitutional  faculty ;  that,  with  which 
he  has  associated  high  grades  of  happiness;  that, 
which  has  motives  touching  every  faculty  of  the 
mind.  Wealth  is  an  artist  :  by  its  patronage  men 
are  encouraged  to  paint,  to  carve,  to  design,  to  build 
and  adorn; — A  master-mechanic  :  and  inspires  man 
to  invent,  to  discover,  to  apply,  to  forge,  and  to  fash- 
ion : — A  husbandman  :  and  under  its  influence  men 
rear  the  flock,  till  the  earth,  plant  the  vineyard,  the 
field,  the  orchard,  and  the  garden : — A  manufactur- 
er :  and  teaches  men  to  card,  to  spin,  to  weave,  to 
color  and  dress  all  useful  fabrics  : — A  merchant  : 
and  sends  forth  ships,  and  fills  ware-houses  with 
their  returning  cargoes  gathered  from  every  zone. 
It  is  the  scholar's  patron;  sustains  his  leisure,  re-  ■  f 
wards  his  labor,  builds  the  college,  and  gathers  the 
library. 

Is  a  man  weak  ? — he  can  buy  the  strong.     Is  he 
ignorant? — the  learned  will  serve  his  wealth.     Is  he   J1 
rude  of  speech  ? — he  may   procure   the   advocacy 


&4  SIX    WARNINGS. 

of  the  eloquent.  The  rich  cannot  buy  honor,  but 
honorable  places  they  can ;  they  cannot  purchase 
nobility,  but  they  may  its  titles.  Money  cannot  buy 
freshness  of  heart,  but  it  can  every  luxury  which 
tempts  to  enjoyment.  Laws  are  its  body-guard,  and 
no  earthly  power  may  safely  defy  it;  either  while 
running  in  the  swift  channels  of  commerce,  or  repo- 
sing in  the  reservoirs  of  ancient  families.  Here  is  a 
wonderful  thing,  that  an  inert  metal,  which  neither 
thinks,  nor  feels,  nor  stirs,  can  set  the  whole  world 
to  thinking,  planning,  running,  digging,  fashioning, 
and  drives  on  the  sweaty  mass  with  never-ending 
labors ! 

Avarice  seeks  gold,  not  to  build  or  buy  therewith ; 
not  to  clothe  or  feed  itself;  not  to  make  it  an  instru- 
ment of  wisdom,  of  skill,  of  friendship,  or  religion. 
)  |  Avarice  seeks  it  to  heap  it  up ;  to  walk  around  the 
pile,  and  gloat  upon  it ;  to  fondle,  and  court,  to  kiss 
and  hug  the  darling  stuff  to  the  end  of  life,  with  the 
homage  of  idolatry. 

Pride  seeks  it ; — for  it  gives  power,  and  place,  and 
titles,  and  exalts  its  possessor  above  his  fellows.  To 
be  a  thread  in  the  fabric  of  life,  just  like  any  other 
thread,  hoisted  up  and  down  by  the  treddle,  played 
across  by  the  shuttle,  and  woven  tightly  into  the 
piece,  this  may  suit  humility,  but  not  pride. 

Vanity  seeks  it; — what  else   can   give  it  costly 


SIX   WARNINGS.  83 

clothing,  and  rare  ornaments,  and  stately  dwellings, 
and  showy  equipage,  and  attract  admiring  eyes  to 
its  gaudy  colors  and  costly  jewels  ? 

Taste  seeks  it ; — because  by  it,  may  be  had  what- 
ever is  beautiful,  or  refining,  or  instructive.  What 
leisure  has  poverty  for  sUidy,  and  how  can  it  collect 
books,  manuscripts,  pictures,  statues,  coins,  or  curi- 
osities? 

Love  seeks  it ; — to  build  a  home  full  of  delights 
for  father,  wife  or  child ;  and,  wisest  of  all, 

Religion  seeks  it ; — to  make  it  the  messenger  and 
servant  of  benevolence,  to  want,  to  suffering,  and  to 
ignorance. 

What  a  sight  does  the  busy  world  present,  as  of  a 
great  workshop,  where  hope  and  fear,  love  and 
pride,  and  lust,  and  pleasure,  and  avarice,  separate 
or  in  partnership,  drive  on  the  universal  race  for 
wealth :  delving  in  the  mine,  digging  in  the  earth, 
sweltering  at  the  forge,  plying  the  shuttle,  ploughing 
the  waters;  in  houses,  in  shops,  in  stores,  on  the 
mountain-side,  or  in  the  valley ;  by  skill,  by  labor, 
by  thought,  by  craft,  by  force,  by  traffic ;  all  men, 
in  all  places,  by  all  labors,  fair  and  unfair,  the  world 
around,  busy,  busy ;  ever  searching  for  wealth  that 
wealth  may  supply  their  pleasures. 

As  every  taste  and  inclination  may  receive  its 
gratification  through  riches,  the  universal  and  often 


84  SIX    WARNINGS. 

fierce  pursuit  of  it  arises,  not  from  the  single  impulse 
of  avarice,  but  from  the  impulse  of  the  whole  mind ; 
and  on  this  very  account,  its  pursuits  should  be  more 
exactly  regulated.  Let  me  set  up  a  warning  over 
against  the  special  dangers  which  lie  along  the  road 

to    RICHES. 

I.  I  warn  you  against  thinking  that  riches  neces- 
sarily confer  happiness ;  and  poverty,  unhappiness. 
Do  not  begin  life  supposing  that  you  shall  be  heart- 
rich,  when  you  are  purse-rich.  A  man's  happiness 
depends  primarily  upon  his  disposition  ;  if  that  be 
good,  riches  will  bring  pleasure ;  but  only  vexation, 
if  that  be  evil.  To  lavish  money  upon  shining 
trifles,  to  make  an  idol  of  one's  self  for  fools  to 
gaze  at,  to  rear  mansions  beyond  our  wants,  to  gar- 
nish them  for  display  and  not  for  use,  to  chatter 
through  the  heartless  rounds  of  pleasure,  to  lounge, 
to  gape,  to  simper  and  giggle : — can  wealth  make 
vanity  happy  by  such  folly  ?  If  wealth  descends 
upon  avarice,  does  it  confer  happiness?  It  blights 
the  heart,  as  autumnal  fires  ravage  the  prairies ! 
The  eye  glows  with  greedy  cunning,  conscience 
shrivels,  the  light  of  love  goes  out,  and  the  wretch 
moves  amidst  his  coin  no  better,  no  happier  than  a 
loathsome  reptile  in  a  mine  of  gold.  A  dreary  lire 
of  self-love  burns  in  the  bosom  of  the  avaricious 
rich,  as  a  hermit's  flame  in  a  ruined  temple  of  the 


SIX    WARNINGS.  85 

desert.  The  fire  is  kindled  for  no  deity,  and  is 
odorous  with  no  incense,  but  only  warms  the  shiv- 
ering anchorite. 

Wealth  will  do  little  for  lust,  but  to  hasten  its 
corruption.  There  is  no  more  happiness  in  a  foul  j, 
heart,  than  there  is  health  in  a  pestilent  morass. 
Satisfaction  is  not  made  out  of  such  stuff  as  fighting 
carousals,  obscene  revelry,  and  midnight  orgies.  An 
alligator,  gorging  or  swoln  with  surfeit  and  basking 
in  the  sun,  has  the  same  happiness  which  riches 
bring  to  the  man  who  eats  to  gluttony,  drinks  to 
drunkenness,  and  sleeps  to  stupidity.  But  riches 
indeed  bless  that  heart  whose  almoner  is  benevo- 
lence. If  the  taste  is  refined,  if  the  affections  are 
pure,  if  conscience  is  honest,  if  charity  listens  to  the 
needy,  and  generosity  relieves  them ;  if  the  public- 
spirited  hand  fosters  all  that  embellishes  and  all  that 
ennobles  society — then  is  the  rich  man  happy. 

On  the  other  hand,  do  not  suppose  that  poverty  is 
a  waste  and  howling  wilderness.  There  is  a  pov- 
erty of  vice — mean,  loathsome,  covered  with  all  the 
sores  of  depravity.  /There  is  a  poverty  of  indolence 
— where  virtues  sleep,  and  passions  fret  and  bicker. 
There  is  a  poverty  which  despondency  makes — a 
deep  dungeon,  in  which  the  victim  wears  hopeless 
chains.  May  GJod  save  you  from  that!  There  is  a 
spiteful  and  venomous  poverty,  in  which  mean  and 
8 


86  SIX    WARNINGS. 

cankered  hearts,  repairing  none  of  their  own  losses, 
spit  at  others'  prosperity,  and  curse  the  rich, — them- 
selves doubly  cursed  by  their  own  hearts. 

But  there  is  a  contented  poverty,  in  which  indus- 
try and  peace  rule ;  and  a  joyful  hope,  which  looks 
out  into  another  world  where  riches  shall  neither  fly 
nor  fade.  This  poverty  may  possess  an  independent 
mind,  a  heart  ambitious  of  usefulness,  a  hand  quick 
to  sow  the  seed  of  other  men's  happiness,  and  find  its 
own  joy  in  their  enjoyment.  If  a  serene  age  finds 
you  in  such  poverty,  it  is  such  a  wilderness,  if  it  be 
a  wilderness,  as  that  in  which  God  led  his  chosen 
people,  and  on  which  he  rained  every  day  a  heavenly 
manna. 

If  God  open  to  your  feet  the  way  to  wealth,  enter 
Jt  it  cheerfully  ;  but  remember  that  riches  will  bless  or 
curse  you,  as  your  own  heart  determines.  But  if 
circumscribed  by  necessity,  you  are  still  indigent, 
after  all  your  industry,  do  not  scorn  poverty.  There 
is  often  in  the  hut  more  dignity  than  in  the  palace ; 
more  satisfaction  in  the  poor  man's  scanty  fare  than 
in  the  rich  man's  satiety. 

II.  Men  are  warned  in  the  Bible  against  making 
haste  to  be  rich.  He  that  hasteth  to  be  rich  hath  an 
evil  eye,  and  considcreth  not  that  poverty  shall  come 
upon  him.  This  is  spoken,  not  of  the  alacrity  of 
enterprise,  but  of  the  precipitancy  of  avarice.     That 


SIX   WARNINGS.  87 

is  an  evil  eye  which  leads  a  man  into  trouble  by- 
incorrect  vision.  When  a  man  seeks  to  prosper  by- 
crafty  tricks  instead  of  careful  industry;  when  a 
man's  inordinate  covetousness  pushes  him  across  all 
lines  of  honesty  that  he  may  sooner  clutch  the  prize; 
when  gambling  speculation  would  reap  where  it  had 
not  strewn ;  when  men  gain  riches  by  crimes — there 
is  an  evil  eye,  which  guides  them  through  a  spe- 
cious prosperity,  to  inevitable  ruin.  So  dependent  ]/ 
is  suceess  upon  patient  industry,  that  he  who  seeks 
it  otherwise,  tempts  his  own  ruin.  A  young  lawyer, 
unwilling  to  wait  for  that  practice  which  rewards 
a  good  reputation,  or  unwilling  to  earn  that  repu- 
tation by  severe  application,  rushes  through  all  the 
dirty  paths  of  chicane  to  a  hasty  prosperity;  and  he 
rushes  out  of  it,  by  the  dirtier  paths  of  discovered 
villany.  A  young  politician,  scarcely  waiting  till 
the  law  allows  his  majority,  sturdily  begs  for  that 
popularity  which  he  should  have  patiently  earned. 
In  the  ferocious  conflicts  of  political  life,  cunning, 
intrigue,  falsehood,  slander,  vituperative  violence, 
at  first  sustain  his  pretensions,  and  at  last  demolish 
them.  It  is  thus  in  all  the  ways  of  traffic,  in  all 
the  arts,  and  trades.  That  prosperity  which  grows 
like  the  mushroom,  is  as  poisonous  as  the  mush- 
room. Few  men  are  destroyed ;  but  many  destroy 
themselves. 


88  SIX    WARNINGS. 

When  God  sends  wealth  to  bless  men  he  sends  it 
gradually  like  a  gentle  rain.  When  God  sends  riches 
to  punish  men,  they  come  tumultuously,  like  a  roar- 
ing torrent,  tearing  up  landmarks  and  sweeping  all 
before  them  in  promiscuous  ruin.  Almost  every  evil 
which  environs  the  path  to  wealth,  springs  from 
that  criminal  haste  which  substitutes  adroitness  for 
industry,  and  trick  for  toil. 

III.  Let  me  warn  you  against  covetousness. 
Thou  shall  not  covet,  is  the  law  by  which  God 
sought  to  bless  a  favorite  people.  Covetousness  is 
greediness  of  money.  The  Bible  meets  it  with  sig- 
nificant woes*  by  God's  hatred^  by  solemn  warn- 
ings,%  by  denunciations ,§  by  exclusion  from  Heaven.^ 
This  pecuniary  gluttony  comes  upon  the  competitors 
for  wealth  insidiously.  At  first,  business  is  only  a 
means  of  paying  for  our  pleasures.  Vanity  soon 
whets  the  appetite  for  money,  to  sustain  her  parade 
and  competition,  to  gratify  her  piques  and  jealousies. 
Pride  throws  in  fuel  for  a  brighter  flame.  Vindictive 
hatreds  often  augment  the  passion,  until  the  whole 
soul  glows  as  a  fervid  furnace,  and  the  body  is  driven 
as  a  boat  whose  ponderous  engine  trembles  with  the 
utmost  energy  of  steam. 

Covetousness  is  unprofitable.     It  defeats  its  own 

*  Hah.  ii.  9.     t  Ps.  x.  3.     t  Luke  xii.  15.     §  1  Cor.  v.  10,  11.     Isai. 
vii.  17.     II  1  Cor.  vi.  10. 


SIX    WARNINGS.  89 

purposes.  It  breeds  restless  daring,  where  it  is  dan- 
gerous to  venture.  It  works  the  mind  to  fever,  so 
that  its  judgments  are  not  cool,  nor  its  calculations 
calm.  Greed  of  money  is  like  fire;  the  more  fuel  it 
has,  the  hotter  it  burns.  Everything  conspires  to 
intensify  the  heat.  Loss  excites  by  desperation,  and 
gain  by  exhilaration.  When  there  is  fever  in  the 
blood,  there  is  fire  on  the  brain ;  and  courage  turns 
to  rashness,  and  rashness  runs  to  ruin. 

Covetousness  breeds  misery.  The  sight  of  houses 
better  than  our  own,  of  dress  beyond  our  means,  of 
jewels  costlier  than  we  may  wear,  of  stately  equip- 
age, and  rare  curiosities  beyond  our  reach,  these 
hatch  the  viper  brood  of  covetous  thoughts :  vexing 
the  poor — who  would  be  rich;  tormenting  the  rich 
— who  would  be  richer.  The  covetous  man  pines 
to  see  pleasure;  is  sad  in  the  presence  of  cheerful- 
ness; and  the  joy  of  the  world  is  his  sorrow,  be- 
cause all  the  happiness  of  others  is  not  his.  I  do 
not  wonder  that  God  abhors*  him.  He  inspects  his 
heart,  as  he  would  a  cave  full  of  noisome  birds,  or 
a  nest  of  rattling  reptiles,  and  loathes  the  sight  of 
its  crawling  tenants.  To  the  covetous  man  life  is  a 
nightmare,  and  God  lets  him  wrestle  with  it  as  best 

he  may.     Mammon  might  build  its  palace  on  such  a  / ( 

heart,  and  Pleasure  bring  all  its  revelry  there,  and 

*  Ps.  x.  3. 

8* 


90  SIX    WARNINGS. 

Honor  all  its  garlands — it  would  be  like  pleasures  in 
a  sepulchre,  and  garlands  on  a  tomb. 

The  creed  of  the  greedy  man  is  brief  and  consis- 
tent ;  and  unlike  other  creeds,  is  both  subscribed  and 
believed.  The  chief  end  of  man  is  to  glorify  gold 
and  enjoy  it  forever  :  life  is  a  time  afforded  man  to 
grow  rich  in :  death,  the  winding  up  of  speculations  : 
heaven,  a  mart  toith  golden  streets :  hell,  a  place 
where  shiftless  men  are  punished  with  everlasting 
poverty. 

God  searched  among  the  beasts  for  a  fit  emblem 
of  contempt,  to  describe  the  end  of  a  covetous 
prince :  He  shall  be  buried  with  the  burial  of  an  Ass, 
drawn  and  cast  forth  beyond  the  gates  of  Jerusalem* 
He  whose  heart  is  turned  to  greediness,  who  sweats 
through  life  under  the  load  of  labor  only  to  heap  up 
money,  and  dies  without  private  usefulness,  or  a 
record  of  public  service,  is  no  better,  in  God's  esti- 
mation, than  a  pack-horse, — a  mule, — an  ass;  a 
creature  for  burdens,  to  be  beaten,  and  worked  and 
killed,  and  dragged  off  by  another  like  him,  aban- 
doned to  the  birds  and  forgotten. 

He  is  buried  with  the  burial  of  an  ass  !  This 
is  the  miser's  epitaph — and  yours,  young  man  !  if 
you  earn  it  by  covctousness  ! 

IV.   I  warn  you  against  selfishness.     Of  riches 

*  Jer.  xxii.  19. 


SIX    WARNINGS.  91 

it  is  written  :  There  is  no  good  in  them  but  for  a 
man  to  rejoice  and  to  do  good  in  his  life.  If  men 
absorb  their  property,  it  parches  the  heart  so  that  it 
will  not  give  forth  blossoms  and  fruits,  but  only 
thorns  and  thistles.  If  men  radiate  and  reflect  upon 
others  some  rays  of  the  prosperity  which  shines 
upon  themselves,  wealth  is  not  only  harmless,  but 
full  of  advantage. 

The  thoroughfares  of  wealth  are  crowded  by  a 
throng  who  jostle,  and  thrust,  and  conflict,  like  men 
in  the  tumult  of  a  battle.  The  rules  which  crafty 
old  men  breathe  into  the  ears  of  the  young  are  full 
of  selfish  wisdom ; — teaching  them  that  the  chief 
end  of  man  is  to  harvest,  to  husband,  and  to  hoard. 
Their  life  is  made  obedient  to  a  scale  of  preferences 
graded  from  a  sordid  experience ;  a  scale  which 
has  penury  for  one  extreme,  and  parsimony  for  the 
other ;  and  the  virtues  are  ranked  between  them  as 
they  are  relatively  fruitful  in  physical  thrift.  Every 
crevice  of  the  heart  is  caulked  with  costive  maxims, 
so  that  no  precious  drop  of  wealth  may  leak  out 
through  inadvertent  generosities.  Indeed,  gener- 
osity and  all  its  company  are  thought  to  be  little 
better  than  pilfering  picklocks,  against  whose  wiles 
the  heart  is  prepared,  like  a  coin-vault,  with  iron- 
clenched  walls  of  stone,  and  impenetrable  doors. 
Mercy,  pity,  and  sympathy,  are  vagrant  fowls ;  and 


92  SIX    WARNINGS. 

that  they  may  not  scale  the  fence  between  a  man 
and  his  neighbors,  their  wings  are  clipped  by  the 
miser's  master-maxim — Charity  begins  at  home.  It 
certainly  stays  there. 

The  habit  of  regarding  men  as  dishonest  rivals, 
dries  up,  also,  the  kindlier  feelings.  A  shrewd  traf- 
ficker must  watch  his  fellows,  be  suspicious  of  their 
proffers,  vigilant  of  their  movements,  and  jealous  of 
their  pledges.  The  world's  way  is  a  very  crooked 
way,  and  a  very  guileful  one.  Its  travellers  creep 
by  stealth,  or  walk  craftily,  or  glide  in  conceal- 
ments, or  appear  in  specious  guises.  He  who  stands 
out- watching  among  men,  to  pluck  his  advantage 
from  their  hands,  or  to  lose  it  by  their  wiles,  comes 
at  length  to  regard  all  men  as  either  enemies  or 
instruments.  Of  course  he  thinks  it  fair  to  strip  an 
enemy ;  and  just  as  fair  to  use  an  instrument.  Men 
are  no  more  to  him  than  bales,  boxes,  or  goods — 
mere  matters  of  traffic.  If  he  ever  relaxes  his  com- 
mercial rigidity  to  indulge  in  the  fictions  of  poetry, 
it  is  when,  perhaps  on  Sundays  or  at  a  funeral,  he 
talks  quite  prettily  about  friendship,  and  generosity, 
and  philanthropy.  The  tightest  ship  may  leak  in 
a  storm,  and  an  unbartered  penny  may  escape  from 
this  man,  when  the  surprise  of  the  solicitation  gives 
no  time  for  thought. 

The  heart_  cannot  wholly  petrify  without  some 


SIX   WARNINGS.  93 

honest  revulsions.  Opiates  are  administered  to  it. 
This  business-man  tells  his  heart  that  it  is  beset  by- 
unscrupulous  enemies ;  that  beneficent  virtues  are 
doors  to  let  them  in  ;  that  liberality  is  bread  given 
to  one's  foes;  and  selfishness  only  self-defence.  At 
the  same  time,  he  enriches  the  future  with  generous 
promises.  While  he  is  getting  rich,  he  cannot 
afford  to  be  liberal ;  but  when  once  he  is  rich,  ah  ! 
how  liberal  he  means  to  be  ! — as  though  habits  could 
be  unbuckled  like  a  girdle,  and  were  not  rather 
steel-bands  riveted,  defying  the  edge  of  any  man's 

resolution,  and  clasping  the  heart  with   invincible 

■*  a\ 

servitude !     r. 

Thorough  selfishness  destroys  or  paralyzes  en- 
joyment. A  heart  made  selfish  by  the  contest  for 
wealth  is  like  a  citadel  stormed  in  war.  The  ban- 
ner of  victory  waves  over  dilapidated  walls,  deso- 
late chambers,  and  magazines  riddled  with  artillery. 
Men,  covered  with  sweat,  and  begrimed  with  toil, 
expect  to  find  joy  in  a  heart  reduced  by  selfishness 
to  a  smouldering  heap  of  ruins. 

I  warn  every  aspirant  for  wealth  against  the  in- 
fernal canker  of  selfishness.  It  will  eat  out  of  the 
heart  with  the  fire  of  hell,  or  bake  it  harder  than  a 
stone.  The  heart  of  avaricious  old  age  stands  like 
a  bare  rock  in  a  bleak  wilderness,  and  there  is  no 
rod  of  authority,  nor  incantation  of  pleasure,  which 


94  SIX   WARNINGS. 

can  draw  from  it  one  crystal  drop  to  quench  the 
raging  thirst  for  satisfaction.  But  listen  not  to  my 
words  alone;  hear  the  solemn  voice  of  God,  pro- 
nouncing doom  upon  the  selfish  :  Your  riches  are 
corrupted,  and  your  garments  are  moth-eaten.  Your 
gold  and  silver  is  cankered ;  and  the  rust  of  them 
shall  be  a  witness  against  you,  and  shall  eat  your 
flesh  as  it  were  fire* 

V.  I  warn  you  against  seeking  wealth  by  cov- 
ert dishonesty.  The  everlasting  plea  of  petty 
fraud  or  open  dishonesty,  is,  its  necessity  or  'profita- 
bleness. 

It  is  neither  necessary  nor  profitable.  The  hope 
is  a  deception,  and  the  excuse  a  lie.  The  severity 
of  competition  affords  no  reason  for  dishonesty  in 
word  or  deed.  Competition  is  fair,  but  not  all  meth- 
ods of  competition.  A  mechanic  may  compete  with 
a  mechanic,  by  rising  earlier,  by  greater  industry, 
by  greater  skill,  more  punctualit}^,  greater  thorough- 
ness, by  employing  better  materials ;  by  a  more 
scrupulous  fidelity  to  promises,  and  by  facility  in 
accommodation.  A  merchant  may  study  to  excel 
competitors,  by  a  better  selection  of  goods,  by  more 
obliging  manners,  by  more  rigid  honesty,  by  a  bet- 
ter knowledge  of  the  market,  by  better  taste  in  the 
arrangement  of  his  goods.     Industry,  honesty,  kind- 

*  James  v.  2,  3. 


SIX   WARNINGS.  95 

ness,  taste,  genius  and  skill,  are  the  only  materials 
of  all  rightful  competition. 

But  whenever  you  have  exerted  all  your  knowl- 
edge, all  your  skill,  all  your  industry,  with  long 
continued  patience  and  without  success,  then,  it  is 
clear,  not  that  you  may  proceed  to  employ  trick  and 
cunning,  but  that  you  must  stop.  God  has  put 
before  you  a  "bound  which  no  man  may  overleap. 
•There  may  be  the  appearance  of  gain  on  the  kna- 
vish side  of  the  wall  of  honor.  Traps  are  always 
baited  with  food  sweet  to  the  taste  of  the  intended 
victim;  and  Satan  is  too  crafty  a  trapper  not  to 
scatter  the  pitfall  of  dishonesty  with  some  shining 
particles  of  gold. 

But  what  if  fraud  were  necessary  to  permanent 
success  ?  will  you  take  success  upon  such  terms  1  I 
perceive,  too  often,  that  young  men  regard  the  ar- 
gument as  ended,  when  they  prove  to  themselves 
that  they  cannot  be  rich  without  guile.  Very  well ; 
then  be  poor.  But  if  you  prefer  money  to  honor, 
you  may  well  swear  fidelity  to  the  villain's  law  ! 
If  it  is  not  base  and  detestable  to  gain  by  equivoca- 
tion, neither  is  it  by  lying;  and  if  not  by  lying, 
neither  is  it  by  stealing ;  and  if  not  by  stealing, 
neither  by  robbery  or  murder.  Will  you  tolerate 
the  loss  of  honor  and  honesty  for  the  sake  of  profit? 
For  exactly  this.  Judas  betrayed  Christ,  and  Arnold 


96  SIX   WARNINGS. 

his  country.  Because  it  is  the  only  way  to  gain 
some  pleasure,  may  a  wife  yield  her  honor  ? — a  pol- 
itician sell  himself? — a  statesman  barter  his  coun- 
sel?— a  judge  take  bribes? — a  juryman  forswear 
himself? — or  a  witness  commit  perjury?  Then  vir- 
tues are  marketable  commodities,  and  may  be  hung 
up,  like  meat  in  the  shambles,  or  sold  at  auction  to 
the  highest  bidder. 

Who  can  afford  a  victory  gained  by  a  defeat  of  his- 
virtue?  What  prosperity  can  compensate  the  plun- 
dering of  a  man's  heart  ?  A  good  name  is  rather  to  be 
chosen  than  great  riches :  sooner  or  later  every  man 
will  find  it  so. 

With  what  dismay  would  Esau  have  sorrowed 
for  a  lost  birthright,  had  he  lost  also  the  pitiful  mess 
of  pottage  for  which  he  sold  it?  With  what  double 
despair  would  Judas  have  clutched  at  death,  if  he 
had  not  obtained  even  the  thirty  pieces  of  silver 
which  were  to  pay  his  infamy?  And  with  what 
utter  confusion  will  all  dishonest  men,  who  were 
learning  of  the  Devil  to  defraud  other  meu,  find  at 
length,  that  he  was  giving  his  most  finished  lesson 
of  deception, — by  cheating  them!  and  making  pov- 
erty and  disgrace  the  only  fruit  of  the  lies  and  frauds 
which  were  framed  for  profit !  Getting  treasure  by 
a  lying  tongue  is  a  vanity  tossed  to  and  fro  of  them 
that  seek  death. 


SIX    WARNINGS.  97 

Men  have  only  looked  upon  the  beginning  of  a 
career  when  they  pronounce  upon  the  profitableness 
of  dishonesty.  Many  a  ship  goes  gaily  out  of  harbor 
which  never  returns  again.  That  only  is  a  good 
voyage  which  brings  home  the  richly  freighted  ship. 
God  explicitly  declares  that  an  inevitable  curse  of 
dishonesty  shall  fall  upon  the  criminal  himself,  or 
upon  his  children:  He  that  by  usury,  and  unjust 
gam,  increaseth  his  substance,  he  shall  gather  it  for 
him  that  will  pity  the  poor.  His  children  are  far 
from  safety,  and  they  are  crushed  in  the  gate. 
Neither  is  there  any  to  deliver  them, :  the  robber  swal- 
loweth  up  their  substance. 

Iniquities,  whose  end  is  dark  as  midnight,  are 
permitted  to  open  bright  as  the  morning ;  the  most 
poisonous  bud  unfolds  with  brilliant  colors.  So  the 
threshold  of  perdition  is  burnished  till  it  glows  like 
the  gate  of  paradise.  'There  is  a  way  which  seemeth 
right  unto  a  man,  but  the  ends  thereof  are  the  ways 
of  death)  This  is  dishonesty  described  to  the  life. 
At  first  you  look  down  upon  a  smooth  and  verdant 
path  covered  with  flowers,  perfumed  with  odors, 
and  overhung  with  fruits  and  grateful  shade.  Its 
long  perspective  is  illusive ;  for  it  ends  quickly  in  a 
precipice,  over  which  you  pitch  into  irretrievable 
ruin. 

For  the  sources  of  this  inevitable  disaster,  we  need 
9 


98  SIX    WARNINGS. 

look  no  further  than  the  effect  of  dishonesty  upon  a 
man's  own  mind.  The  difference  between  cunning 
and  wisdom,  is  the  difference  between  acting  by  the 
certain  and  immutable  laws  of  nature,  and  acting  by 
the  shifts  of  temporary  expedients.  An  honest  man 
puts  his  prosperity  upon  the  broad  current  of  those 
laws  which  govern  the  world.  A  crafty  man  means 
to  pry  between  them,  to  steer  across  them,  to  take 
advantage  of  them.  An  honest  man  steers  by  God's 
chart;  and  a  dishonest  man  by  his  own.  Which 
is  the  most  liable  to  perplexities  and  fatal  mistakes 
of  judgment  ?  Wisdom  steadily  ripens  to  the  end  ; 
cunning  is  worm-bitten,  and  soon  drops  from  the 
tree. 

I  could  repeat  the  names  of  many  men,  (every 
village  has  such,  and  they  swarm  in  cities,)  who  are 
skilful,  indefatigable,  but  audaciously  dishonest ;  and 
for  a  time  they  seemed  going  straight  forward  to  the 
realm  of  wealth.  I  never  knew  a  single  one  to  avoid 
ultimate  ruin.  Men  who  act  under  dishonest  pas- 
sions, are  like  men  riding  fierce  horses.  It  is  not 
always  with  the  rider  when  or  where  he  shall  stop. 
If  for  his  sake,  the  steed  dashes  wildly  on  while  the 
road  is  smooth ;  so,  turning  suddenly  into  a  rough 
and  dangerous  way,  the  rider  must  go  madly  for- 
ward for  the  steed's  sake, — now  chafed,  his  mettle 
up,  his  eye  afire,  and  beast  and  burden  like  a  bolt 


SIX    WARNINGS.  99 

speeding  through  the  air,  until  some  bound  or  sud- 
den fall  tumble  both  to  the  ground — a  crushed  and 
mangled  mass. 

A  man  pursuing  plain  ends  by  honest  means  may 
be  troubled  on  every  side,  yet  not  distressed:  per- 
plexed, but  not  in  despair :  persecuted,  but  not  for- 
saken :  cast  down,  but  not  destroyed.  But  those  that 
pursue  their  advantage  by  a  round  of  dishonesties, 
when  fear  comelh  as  a  desolation,  and  destruction  as 
a  whirlwind,  when  distress  and  anguish  come  upon 
them,  .  .  .  shall  eat  of  the  fruit  of  their  own  way, 
and  be  filled  with  their  own  devices  ;  for  the  turning 
away  of  the  simple  shall  slay  them  ;  and  the  j)rosper- 
ity  of  fools  shall  destroy  them. 

VI.  The  Bible  overflows  with  warnings  to  those 
who  gain  wealth  by  violent  extortion,  or  by  any 
flagrant  villany.  Some  men  stealthily  slip  from 
under  them  the  possessions  of  the  poor.  Some  be- 
guile the  simple  and  heedless  of  their  patrimony. 
Some  tyrannize  over  ignorance,  and  extort  from  it 
its  fair  domains.  Some  steal  away  the  senses,  and 
intoxicate  the  mind — the  more  readily  and  largely  to 
cheat ;  some  set  their  traps  in  all  the  dark  places  of 
men's  adversity,  and  prowl  for  wrecks  all  along  the 
shores  on  which  men's  fortunes  go  to  pieces.  Men 
will  take  advantage  of  extreme  misery,  to  wring  it 
with  more  griping   tortures,   and  compel  it  to  the 


100  SIX    WARNINGS. 

extremest  sacrifices ;  and  stop  only  when  no  more  can 
be  borne  by  the  sufferer,  or  nothing  more  extracted 
by  the  usurer.  The  earth  is  as  full  of  avaricious 
monsters,  as  the  tropical  forests  are  of  beasts  of  prey. 
But  amid  all  the  lions,  and  tigers,  and  hyenas,  is  seen 
the  stately  bulk  of  three  huge  Behemoths. 

The  first  Behemoth  is  that  incarnate  fiend  who 
navigates  the  ocean  to  traffic  in  human  misery  and 
freight  with  the  groans  and  tears  of  agony.  Distant 
shores  are  sought  with  cords  and  manacles ;  villages 
surprised  with  torch  and  sword ;  and  the  loathsome 
ship  swallows  what  the  sword  and  the  fire  have 
spared.  By  night  and  day  the  voyage  speeds,  and 
the  storm  spares  wretches  more  relentless  than 
itself.  The  wind  wafts  and  the  sun  lights  the  path 
for  a  ship  whose  log  is  written  in  blood.  Hideous 
profits,  dripping  red,  even  at  this  hour,  lure  these 
infernal  miscreants  to  their  remorseless  errands. 
The  thirst  of  gold  inspires  such  courage,  skill,  and 
cunning  vigilance,  that  the  thunders  of  four  allied 
navies  cannot  sink  the  infamous  fleet. 

What  wonder  ?  Just  such  a  Behemoth  of  rapac- 
ity stalks  among  us,  and  fattens  on  the  blood  of  our 
sons.  Men  there  arc,  who,  without  a  pang  or  gleam 
of  remorse,  will  coolly  wait  for  character  to  rot,  and 
health  to  sink,  and  means  to  melt,  that  they  may 
suck  up  the  last  drop  of  the  victim's  blood.     Our 


SIX    WARNINGS.  101 

streets  are  full  of  reeling  wretches  whose  bodies  and 
manhood  and  souls  have  been  crushed  and  put  to 
the  press,  that  monsters  might  wring  out  of  them  a 
wine  for  their  infernal  thirst.  The  agony  of  mid- 
night massacre,  the  phrensy  of  the  ship's  dungeon, 
the  living  death  of  the  middle  passage,  the  wails  of 
separation,  and  the  dismal  torpor  of  hopeless  servi- 
tude— are  these  found  only  in  the  piracy  of  the  slave 
trade?  They  all  are  among  us!  worse  assassina- 
tions !  worse  dragging  to  a  prison-ship !  worse 
groans  ringing  from  the  fetid  hold!  worse  separ- 
ations of  families !  worse  bondage  of  intemperate 
men,  enslaved  by  that  most  inexorable  of  all  task- 
masters— sensual  habit ! 

The  third  Behemoth  is  seen  lurking  among  the 
Indian  savages,  and  bringing  the  arts  of  learning, 
and  the  skill  of  civilization,  to  aid  in  plundering  the 
debauched  barbarian.  The  cunning,  murdering, 
scalping  Indian,  is  no  match  for  the  Christian  white- 
man.  Compared  with  the  midnight  knavery  of  men 
reared  in  schools,  rocked  by  religion,  tempered  and 
taught  by  the  humane  institutions  of  liberty  and 
civilization,  all  the  craft  of  the  savage  is  twilight. 
Vast  estates  have  been  accumulated,  without  hav- 
ing an  honest  farthing  in  them.  Our  Penitentiaries 
might  be  sent  to  school  to  the  Treaty-grounds  and 
Council-grounds.  Smugglers  and  swindlers  might 
9* 


102  SIX    WARNINGS. 

humble  themselves  in  the  presence  of  Indian  traders. 
All  the  crimes  against  property  known  to  our  laws 
flourish  with  unnatural  vigor ;  and  some,  unknown 
to  civilized  villany.  To  swindle  ignorance,  to  over- 
reach simplicity,  to  lie  without  scruple  to  any  extent, 
from  mere  implication  down  to  perjury ;  to  tempt 
the  savages  to  rob  each  other,  and  to  receive  their 
plunder;  to  sell  goods  at  incredible  prices  to  the 
sober  Indian,  then  to  intoxicate  him,  and  steal  them 
all  back  by  a  sham  bargain,  to  be  sold  again,  and 
stolen  again;  to  employ  falsehood,  lust,  threats, 
whisky,  and  even  the  knife  and  the  pistol ;  in  short 
to  consume  the  Indian's  substance  by  every  vice  and 
crime  possible  to  an  unprincipled  heart  inflamed 
with  an  insatiable  rapacity,  unwatched  by  Justice, 
and  unrestrained  by  Law — this  it  is  to  be  an  Indian 
Trader.  I  would  rather  inherit  the  bowels  of  Vesu- 
vius, or  make  my  bed  in  Etna,  than  own  those  estates 
which  have  been  scalped  off  from  human  beings  as 
the  hunter  strips  a  beaver  of  its  fur.  Of  all  these,  of 
all  who  gain  possessions  by  extortion  and  robbery, 
never  let  yourself  be  envious  !  /  was  envious  at  the 
foolish,  when  I  saio  the  prosperity  of  the  wicked. 
Their  eyes  stand  out  with  fatness :  they  have  more 
than  heart  could  wish.  They  are  corrupt,  and  speak 
wickedly  concerning  opprcssio?i.  They  have  set 
their  mouth   against  the   heaven,  and  their   tongue 


SIX   WARNINGS.  103 

walketh  through  the  earth.  When  I  sought  to  know 
this j  it  was  too  painful  for  me,  until  I  went  into  the 
sanctuary.  Surely  thou  didst  set  them  in  slippery 
places  !  thou  castedst  them  down  into  destruction  as 
in  a  moment !  They  are  utterly  consumed  with  ter- 
rors. As  a  dream  when  one  awaketh,  so,  O  Lord! 
when  thou  awakest,  thou  shall  despise  their  image  ! 

I  would  not  bear  their  heart  who  have  so  made 
money,  were  the  world  a  solid  globe  of  gold,  and 
mine.  I  would  not  stand  for  them  in  the  judgment, 
were  every  star  of  heaven  a  realm  of  riches,  and 
mine.  I  would  not  walk  with  them  the  burning 
marl  of  hell,  to  bear  their  torment,  and  utter  their 
groans,  for  the  throne  of  God  itself.  u 

Let  us  hear  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter. 
Riches  got  by  deceit,  cheat  no  man  so  much  as  the 
getter.  Riches  bought  with  guile,  God  will  pay  for 
with  vengeance.  Riches  got  by  fraud,  are  dug  out 
of  one's  own  heart,  and  destroy  the  mine.  Unjust 
riches  curse  the  owner  in  getting,  in  keeping,  in 
transmitting.  They  curse  his  children  in  their  fath- 
er's memory,  in  their  own  wasteful  habits,  in  drawing 
around  them  all  bad  men  to  be  their  companions. 

While  I  do  not  discourage  your  search  for  wealth, 
I  warn  you  that  it  is  not  a  cruise  upon  level  seas,  and 
under  bland  skies.  You  advance  where  ten  thou- 
sand  are  broken  in  pieces  before  they  reach   the 


V 


104  SIX    WARNINGS. 

mart;  where  those  who  reach  it  are  worn  out,  by 
their  labors,  past  enjoying  their  riches.  You  seek  a 
land  pleasant  to  the  sight,  but  dangerous  to  the  feet ; 
a  land  of  fragrant  winds,  which  lull  to  security ;  of 
golden  fruits,  which  are  poisonous ;  of  glorious  hues, 
which  dazzle  and  mislead. 

You  may  be  rich  and  be  pure ;  but  it  will  cost  you 
a  struggle.  You  maybe  rich  and  go  to  heaven;  but 
ten,  doubtless,  will  sink  beneath  their  riches,  where 
one  breaks  through  them  to  heaven.  If  you  have 
entered  this  shining  way,  begin  to  look  for  snares 
and  traps.  Go  not  careless  of  your  danger,  and  pro- 
voking it.  See,  on  every  side  of  you,  how  many 
there  are  who  seal  God's  word  with  their  blood  : — 

They  that  will  be  rich,  fall  into  temptation  and  a 
snare,  and  into  many  foolish  and  hurtful  lusts,  which 
drown  men  in  destruction  and  perdition.  For  the 
love  of  Money  is  the  root  of  all  evil,  which,  while 
some  have  coveted  after,  they  have  erred  from  the 
faith,  and  pierced  themselves  through  toith  many 
sorrows. 


0 


LECTURE  IV 


My  son,  if  sinners  entice  thee,  consent  thou  not.    Prov.  i.  10. 

He  who  is  allured  to  embrace  evil  under  some 
engaging  form  of  beauty,  or  seductive  appearance 
of  good,  is  enticed.  A  man  is  tempted  to  what  he 
knows  to  be  sinful ;  he  is  enticed  where  the  evil 
appears  to  be  innocent.  The  Enticer  wins  his  way 
by  bewildering  the  moral  sense,  setting  false  lights 
ahead  of  the  imagination,  painting  disease  with  the 
hues  of  health,  making  impurity  to  glow  like  inno- 
cency,  strewing  the  broad-road  with  flowers,  lulling 
its  travellers  with  soothing  music,  hiding  all  its 
chasms,  covering  its  pitfalls,  and  closing  its  long 
perspective  with  the  mimic  glow  of  Paradise. 

The  young  are  seldom  tempted  to  outright  wick- 
edness ;  evil  comes  to  them  as  an  enticement.  The 
honest  generosity  and  fresh  heart  of  youth  would 
revolt  from  open  meanness  and  undisguised  vice. 
The  Adversary  conforms  his  wiles  to  their  nature. 


106  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

He  tempts  them  to  the  basest  deeds  by  beginning 
with  innocent  ones,  gliding  to  more  exceptionable, 
and  finally,  to  positively  wicked  ones.  All  our 
warnings  then  must  be  against  the  vernal  beauty  of 
vice.  Its  autumn  and  winter  none  wish.  It  is  my 
purpose  to  describe  the  enticement  of  particular  men 
upon  the  young. 

Every  youth  knows  that  there  are  dangerous  men 
abroad  who  would  injure  him  by  lying,  by  slander, 
by  over-reaching  and  plundering  him.  From  such 
they  have  little  to  fear,  because  they  are  upon  their 
guard.  Few  imagine  that  they  have  anything  to 
dread  from  those  who  have  no  designs  against 
them ;  yet  such  is  the  instinct  of  imitation,  so  insen- 
sibly does  the  example  of  men  steal  upon  us  and 
warp  our  conduct  to  their  likeness,  that  the  young 
often  receive  a  deadly  injury  from  men  with  whom 
they  never  spoke.  As  all  bodies  in  nature  give  out 
or  receive  caloric  until  there  is  an  equilibrium  of 
temperature,  so  there  is  a  radiation  of  character 
upon  character.  Our  thoughts,  our  tastes,  our  emo- 
tions, our  partialities,  our  prejudices,  and  finally, 
our  conduct  and  habits,  are  insensibly  changed  by 
the  silent  influence  of  men  who  never  once  directly 
tempted  us,  or  even  knew  the  effect  which  they  pro- 
duced. I  shall  draw  for  your  inspection  some  of 
those  dangerous  men,  whose  open  or  silent  entice- 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  107 

ment  has  availed   against   thousands,  and  will  be 
exerted  upon  thousands  more. 

I.  The  wit.  It  is  sometimes  said  by  phlegmatic 
theologians  that  Christ  never  laughed,  but  often 
wept.  I  shall  not  quarrel  with  the  assumption.  I 
only  say  that  men  have  within  them  a  faculty  of 
mirthfulness  which  God  created.  I  suppose  it  was 
meant  for  use.  Those  who  do  not  feel  the  impul- 
sion of  this  faculty,  are  not  the  ones  to  sit  in  judg- 
ment upon  those  who  do.  It  would  be  very  absurd 
for  an  owl  in  an  ivy  bush,  to  read  lectures  on  optics 
to  an  eagle ;  or  for  a  mole  to  counsel  a  lynx  on  the 
sin  of  sharp-sightedness.  He  is  divinely  favored 
who  may  trace  a  silver  vein  in  all  the  affairs  of 
life ;  see  sparkles  of  light  in  the  gloomiest  scenes ; 
and  absolute  radiance  in  those  which  are  bright. 
There  are  in  the  clouds  ten  thousand  inimitable 
forms  and  hues  to  be  found  nowhere  else ;  there 
are  in  plants  and  trees  beautiful  shapes  and  endless 
varieties  of  color;  there  are  in  flowers  minute  pen- 
cilings  of  exquisite  shade;  in  fruits  a  delicate  bloom, 
— like  a  veil,  making  the  face  of  beauty  more  beau- 
tiful ;  sporting  among  the  trees,  and  upon  the  flow- 
ers, are  tiny  insects — gems  which  glow  like  living 
diamonds.  Ten  thousand  eyes  stare  full  upon  these 
things  and  see  nothing;  and  yet  thus  the  Divine 
Artist  has  finished  his  matchless  work.     Thus,  too, 


108  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

upon  all  the  labors  of  life,  the  events  of  each  hour, 
the  course  of  good  or  evil;  upon  each  action,  or 
word,  or  attitude;  upon  all  the  endless  changes 
transpiring  among  myriad  men,  there  is  a  delicate 
grace,  or  bloom,  or  sparkle,  or  radiance,  which 
catches  the  eye  of  Wit,  and  delights  it  with  appear- 
ances which  are  to  the  weightier  matters  of  life, 
what  odor,  colors,  and  symmetry,  are  to  the  market- 
able and  commercial  properties  of  matter. 

A  mind  imbued  with  this  feeling  is  full  of  dancing 
motes,  such  as  we  see  moving  in  sunbeams  when 
they  pour  through  some  shutter  into  a  dark  room; 
and  when  the  sights  and  conceptions  of  wit  are 
uttered  in  words  they  difFuse  upon  others  that  plea- 
sure whose  brightness  shines  upon  its  own  cheerful 
imagination. 

It  is  not  strange  that  the  Wit  is  a  universal  favor- 
ite. All  companies  rejoice  in  his  presence,  watch 
for  his  words,  repeat  his  language.  He  moves  like 
a  comet  whose  incomings  and  outgoings  are  uncon- 
trollable. He  astonishes  the  regular  stars  with  the 
eccentricity  of  his  orbit,  and  flirts  his  long  tail 
athwart  the  heaven  without  the  slightest  misgivings 
that  it  will  be  troublesome,  and  coquets  the  very 
sun  with  audacious  familiarity.  When  wit  is  un- 
pervcrted,  it  lightens  labor,  makes  the  very  face  of 
care  to  shine,  diffuses  cheerfulness  among  men,  mul- 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  109 

tiplies  the  sources  of  harmless  enjoyment,  gilds  the 
dark  things  of  life,  and  heightens  the  lustre  of  the 
brightest.  If  perverted,  wit  becomes  an  instrument 
of  malevolence,  it  gives  a  deceitful  coloring  to  vice, 
it  reflects  a  semblance  of  truth  upon  error,  and  dis- 
torts the  features  of  real  truth  by  false  lights. 

The  Wit  is  liable  to  indolence  by  relying  upon 
his  genius ;  to  vanity,  by  the  praise  which  is  offered 
as  incense;  to  malignant  sarcasm,  to  revenge  his 
affronts ;  to  dissipation,  from  the  habit  of  exhilara- 
tion, and  from  the  company  which  court  him.  The 
mere  Wit  is  only  a  human  bauble.  He  is  to  life 
what  bells  are  to  horses,  not  expected  to  draw  the 
load,  but  only  to  jingle  while  the  horses  draw. 

The  young  often  repine  at  their  own  native  dul- 
ness;  and  since  God  did  not  choose  to  endow  them 
with  this  shining  quality,  they  will  make  it  for 
themselves.  Forthwith  they  are  smitten  with  the 
itch  of  imitation.  Their  ears  purvey  to  their  mouth 
the  borrowed  jest;  their  eyes  note  the  Wit's  fashion, 
and  the  awkward  youth  clumsily  apes,  in  a  side 
circle,  the  Wit's  deft  and  graceful  gesture,  the 
smooth  smile,  the  roguish  twinkle,  the  sly  look — 
much  as  Caliban  would  imitate  Ariel.  Every  com- 
munity is  supplied  with  self-made  Wits.  One  re- 
tails other  men's  sharp  witticisms,  as  a  Jew  puts  off 
thread-bare  garments.  Another  roars  over  his  own 
10 


110  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

brutal  quotations  of  Scripture.  Another  invents  a 
witticism  by  a  logical  deduction  of  circumstances, 
and  sniffs  and  giggles  over  the  result  as  compla- 
cently as  if  other  men  laughed  too.  Others  lie  in 
wait  around  your  conversation  to  trip  up  some  word, 
or  strike  a  light  out  of  some  sentence.  Others  fish 
in  dictionaries  for  pitiful  puns; — and  all  fulfil  the 
prediction  of  Isaiah  :  Ye  shall  conceive  chaff,  and 
bring  forth  stubble. 

It  becomes  a  mania.  Each  school  has  its  allu- 
sions, each  circle  has  its  apish  motion,  each  compan- 
ionhood  its  park  of  wit-artillery ;  and  we  find  street- 
wit,  shop-wit,  auction-wit,  school-wit,  fool's-wit, 
whisky-wit,  stable-wit,  and  almost  every  kind  of 
wit,  but  mother- wit ; — puns,  quibbles,  catches,  would- 
be-jests,  thread-bare  stories,  and  gew-gaw  tinsel, — 
everything  but  the  real  diamond,  which  sparkles 
simply  because  God  made  it  so  that  it  could  not 
help  sparkling.  Real,  native  mirthfulness  is  like  a 
pleasant  rill  which  quietly  wells  up  in  some  verdant 
nook,  and  steals  out  from  among  reeds  and  willows 
noiselessly,  and  is  seen  far  down  the  meadow,  as 
much  by  the  fruitful ness  of  its  edges  in  flowers,  as 
by  its  own  glimmering  light. 

Let  every  one  beware  of  the  insensible  effect  of 
witty  men  upon  him  ;  they  gild  lies,  so  that  base 
coin  may  pass  for  true  ;  that  which  is  grossly  wrong, 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  Ill 

wit  may  make  fascinating;  when  no  argument 
could  persuade  you,  the  coruscations  of  wit  may 
dazzle  and  blind  you ;  when  duty  presses  you,  the 
threatenings  of  this  human  lightning  may  make  you 
afraid  to  do  right.  Remember  that  the  very  best 
office  of  wit,  is  only  to  lighten  the  serious  labors 
of  life;  that  it  is  only  a  torch,  by  which  men  may 
cheer  the  gloom  of  a  dark  way.  When  it  sets  up  to 
be  your  counsellor  or  your  guide,  it  is  the  fool's 
fire,  flitting  irregularly  and  leading  you  into  the 
quag  or  morass.  The  great  Dramatist  represents 
a  witty  sprite  to  have  put  an  ass'  head  upon  a 
man's  shoulders;  beware  that  you  do  not  let  this 
mischievous  sprite  put  an  ape's  head  upon  yours. 

If  God  has  not  given  you  this  quicksilver,  no  art 
can  make  it;  nor  need  you  regret  it.  The  stone, 
the  wood,  and  the  iron  are  a  thousand  times  more 
valuable  to  society  than  pearls  and  diamonds  and 
rare  gems;  and  sterling  sense,  and  industry,  and 
integrity,  are  better  a  thousand  times,  in  the  hard 
work  of  living,  than  the  brilliance  of  wit. 

II.  There  is  a  character  which  I  shall  describe 
as  the  Humorist.  I  do  not  employ  the  term  to  desig- 
nate one  who  indulges  in  that  pleasantest  of  all  wit 
— latent  wit;  but  to  describe  a  creature  who  con- 
ceals a  coarse  animalism  under  a  brilliant,  jovial 
exterior.     The  dangerous   humorist  is  of  a  plump 


swyx. 


112  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

condition,  evincing  the  excellent  digestion  of  a  good 
eater,  and  answering  very  well  to  the  Psalmist's  de- 
scription: His  eyes  stand  out  with  fatness ;  he  is 
not  in  trouble  as  other  men  are ;  he  has  more  than 
heart  could  wish,  and  his  tongue  walketh  through 
the  earth.  Whatever  is  pleasant  in  ease,  whatever  is 
indulgent  in  morals,  whatever  is  solacing  in  luxury; 
the  jovial  few,  the  convivial  many,  the  glass,  the 
cards,  the  revel,  and  midnight  uproar, — these  are  his 
delights.  His  manners  are  easy  and  agreeable;  his 
face  redolent  of  fun  and  good  nature ;  his  whole  air 
that  of  a  man  fond  of  the  utmost  possible  bodily 
refreshment.  Withal,  he  is  sufficiently  circumspect 
and  secretive  of  his  course,  to  maintain  a  place  in 
genteel  society ;  for  that  is  a  luxury.  He  is  not  a 
glutton,  but  a  choice  eater.  He  is  not  a  gross 
drinker,  only  a  gentlemanly  consumer  of  every  curi- 
ous compound  of  liquor.  He  has  travelled;  he  can 
tell  you  which,  in  every  city,  is  the  best  bar,  the 
best  restaurateur,  the  best  stable.  He  knows  every 
theatre,  each  actor;  particularly  is  he  versed  in  the 
select  morsels  of  the  scandalous  indulgence  peculiar 
to  each.  He  knows  every  race-course,  every  nag,  the 
history  of  all  the  famous  matches,  and  the  pedigree 
of  every  distinguished  horse.  The  whole  vocabu- 
lary of  pleasure  is  vernacular, — its  wit,  its  slang, 
its  watchwords,  and  blackletter  literature.     He  is  a 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  113 

profound  annalist  of  scandal ;  every  stream  of  news, 
clear  or  muddy,  disembogues  into  the  gulf  of  his 
prodigious  memory.  He  can  tell  you,  after  living 
but  a  week  in  a  city,  who  gambles,  when,  for  what 
sums,  and  with  what  fate;  who  is  impure,  who 
was,  who  is  suspected,  who  is  not  suspected — but 
ought  to  be.  He  is  a  morbid  anatomist  of  morals; 
a  brilliant  flesh-fly — unerring  to  detect  taint. 

Like  other  men,  he  loves  admiration  and  desires 
to  extend  his  influence.  All  these  manifold  accom- 
plishments are  exhibited  before  the  callow  young. 
That  he  may  secure  a  train  of  useful  followers,  he 
is  profuse  of  money ;  and  moves  among  them  with 
an  easy,  insinuating  frankness,  a  never-ceasing  gai- 
ety, so  spicy  with  fun,  so  diverting  with  stories,  so 
full  of  little  hits,  sly  innuendoes,  or  solemn  wit,  with 
now  and  then  a  rare  touch  of  dexterous  mimicry, 
and  the  whole  so  pervaded  by  the  indescribable  fla- 
vor, the  changing  hues  of  humor, — that  the  young 
are  bewildered  with  idolatrous  admiration.  What 
gay  young  man,  who  is  old  enough  to  admire  him- 
self and  be  ashamed  of  his  parents,  can  resist  a  man 
so  bedewed  with  humor,  narrating  exquisite  stories 
with  such  mock  gravity,  with  such  slyness  of  mouth, 
and  twinkling  of  the  eye,  with  such  grotesque  atti- 
tudes, and  significant  gestures  ?  He  is  declared  to 
be  the  most  remarkable  man  in  the  world.  Now 
10* 


114  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

take  off  this  man's  dress,  put  out  the  one  faculty  of 
mirthfulness,  and  he  will  stand  disclosed  without 
a  single  positive  virtue !  With  strong  appetites 
deeply  indulged,  hovering  perpetually  upon  the  twi- 
light edge  of  every  vice;  and  whose  wickedness  is 
only  not  apparent,  because  it  is  garnished  with 
flowers  and  garlands ;  who  is  not  despised,  only 
because  his  various  news,  artfully  told,  keep  us  in 
good  humor  with  ourselves !  At  one  period  of 
youthful  life,  this  creature's  influence  supplants  that 
of  every  other  man.  There  is  an  absolute  fascina- 
tion in  him  which  awakens  a  craving  in  the  mind 
to  be  of  his  circle;  plain  duties  become  drudgery, 
home  has  no  light;  life  at  its  ordinary  key  is  mono- 
tonous, and  must  be  screwed  up  to  the  concert  pitch 
of  this  wonderful  genius  !  As  he  tells  his  stories,  so 
with  a  wretched  grimace  of  imitation,  apprentices 
will  try  to  tell  them ;  as  he  gracefully  swings 
through  the  street,  they  will  roll ;  they  will  leer  be- 
cause he  stares  genteelly;  he  sips,  they  guzzle — and 
talk  impudently,  because  he  talks  with  easy  confi- 
dence. He  walks  erect,  they  strut;  he  lounges,  they 
loll ;  he  is  less  than  a  man,  and  they  become  even 
less  than  he.  Copper-rings,  huge  blotches  of  breast- 
pins, wild  streaming  handkerchiefs,  jaunty  hats,  odd 
clothes,  superfluous  walking-sticks,  ill  uttered  oaths, 
stupid    jokes,    and    blundering    pleasantries — these 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  115 

are  the  first  fruits  of  imitation !  There  are  various 
grades  of  it,  from  the  officej  store,  shop,  street,  clear 
down  to  the  hostlery  and  stable.  Our  cities  are  filled 
with  these  juvenile  nondescript  monsters,  these  com- 
pounds of  vice,  low  wit,  and  vulgarity.  The  orig- 
inal is  morally  detestable,  and  the  counterfeit  is  a 
very  base  imitation  of  a  very  base  thing;  the  dark 
shadow  of  a  very  ugly  substance. 

III.  The  Cynic.  The  Cynic  is  one  who  never 
sees  a  good  quality  in  a  man,  and  never  fails  to  see 
a  bad  one.  He  is  the  human  owl,  vigilant  in  dark- 
ness and  blind  to  light,  mousing  for  vermin,  and 
never  seeing  noble  game.  The  Cynic  puts  all  human 
actions  into  only  two  classes — openly  bad,  and  se- 
cretly bad.  All  virtue  and  generosity  and  disinter- 
estedness are  merely  the  appearance  of  good,  but 
selfish  at  the  bottom.  He  holds  that  no  man  does  a 
good  thing  except  for  profit.  The  effect  of  his  con- 
versation upon  your  feelings  is  to  chill  and  sear 
them;  to  send  you  away  sore  and  morose.  His 
criticisms  and  innuendoes  fall  indiscriminately  upon 
every  lovely  thing,  like  frost  upon  flowers.  If  a 
man  is  said  to  be  pure  and  chaste,  he  will  answer : 
Yes,  in  the  day  time.  If  a  woman  is  pronounced 
virtuous,  he  will  reply:  yes,  as  yet.  Mr.  A.  is  a 
religious  man  :  yes,  on  Sundays.  Mr.  B.  has  just 
joined  the  church  :  certainly ;  the  elections  are  coming 


116  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

on.  The  minister  of  the  gospel  is  called  an  example 
of  diligence  :  It  is  his  trade.  Such  a  man  is  gener- 
ous :  of  other  men's  money.  This  man  is  obliging : 
to  lull  suspicion  and  cheat  you.  That  man  is  upright : 
because  he  is  green.  Thus  his  eye  strains  out  every 
good  quality  and  takes  in  only  the  bad.  To  him 
religion  is  hypocrisy,  honesty  a  preparation  for 
fraud,  virtue  only  want  of  opportunity,  and  unde- 
niable purity,  asceticism.  The  live-long  day  he  will 
coolly  sit  with  sneering  lip,  uttering  sharp  speeches 
in  the  quietest  manner,  and  in  polished  phrase, 
transfixing  every  character  which  is  presented : 
His  words  are  softer  than  oi7,  yet  are  they  drawn 
swords. 

All  this,  to  the  young,  seems  a  wonderful  knowl- 
edge of  human  nature;  they  honor  a  man  who 
appears  to  have  found  out  mankind.  They  begin 
to  indulge  themselves  in  flippant  sneers;  and  with 
supercilious  brow,  and  impudent  tongue,  wagging  to 
an  empty  brain,  call  to  naught  the  wise,  the  long 
tried,  and  the  venerable. 

I  do  believe  that  man  is  corrupt  enough;  but 
something  of  good  has  survived  his  wreck;  some- 
thing of  evil  religion  has  restrained,  and  something 
partially  restored  ;  yet,  I  look  upon  the  human  heart 
as  a  mountain  of  fire.  I  dread  its  crater.  I  tremble 
when  I  see  its  lava  roll  the  fiery  stream.    Therefore, 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  1 17 

I  am  the  more  glad,  if  upon  the  old  crust  of  past 
eruptions,  I  can  find  a  single  flower  springing  up. 
So  far  from  rejecting  appearances  of  virtue  in  the 
corrupt  heart  of  a  depraved  race,  I  am  eager  to  see 
their  light  as  ever  mariner  was  to  see  a  star  in  a 
stormy  night. 

dUoss  will  grow  upon  gravestones;  the  ivy  will 
cling  to  the  mouldering  pile ;  the  mistletoe  springs 
from  the  dying  branch ;  and,  God  be  praised,  some- 
thing green,  something  fair  to  the  sight  and  grateful 
to  the  heart,  will  yet  twine  around  and  grow  out  of 
the  seams  and  cracks  of  the  desolate  temple  of  the 
human  heart ! 

Who  could  walk  through  Thebes,  Palmyra,  or 
Petraea,  and  survey  the  wide  waste  of  broken  arches, 
crumbled  altars,  fallen  pillars,  effaced  cornices,  top- 
pling walls,  and  crushed  statues,  with  no  feelings 
but  those  of  contempt?  Who,  unsorrowing,  could 
see  the  stork's  nest  upon  the  carved  pillar,  satyrs 
dancing  on  marble  pavements,  and  scorpions  nest- 
ling where  beauty  once  dwelt,  and  dragons  the  sole 
tenants  of  royal  palaces?  Amid  such  melancholy 
magnificence,  even  the  misanthrope  might  weep ! 
If  here  and  there  an  altar  stood  unbruised,  or  a 
graven  column  unblemished,  or  a  statue  nearly  per- 
fect, he  might  well  feel  love  for  a  man-wrought 
stone,  so  beautiful,  when  all  else  is  so  dreary  and 


118  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

desolate.  Thus,  though  man  is  as  a  desolate  city, 
and  his  passions  are  as  the  wild  beasts  of  the  wilder- 
ness howling  in  kings'  palaces,  yet  he  is  God's 
workmanship,  and  a  thousand  touches  of  exquisite 
beauty  remain.  Since  Christ  hath  put  his  sovereign 
hand  to  restore  man's  ruin,  many  points  are  re- 
moulded, and  the  fair  form  of  a  new  fabric  already 
appears  growing  from  the  ruins,  and  the  first  faint 
flame  is  glimmering  upon  the  restored  altar. 

It  is  impossible  to  indulge  in  such  habitual  severity 
of  opinion  upon  our  fellow-men,  without  injuring 
the  tenderness  and  delicacy  of  our  own  feelings.  A 
man  will  be  what  his  most  cherished  feelings  are. 
If  he  encourage  a  noble  generosity,  every  feeling 
will  be  enriched  by  it;  if  he  nurse  bitter  and  en- 
venomed thoughts,  his  own  spirit  will  absorb  the 
poison;  and  he  will  crawl  among  men  as  a  bur- 
nished adder,  whose  life  is  mischief,  and  whose 
errand  is  death. 

Although  experience  should  correct  the  indiscrim- 
inate confidence  of  the  young,  no  experience  should 
render  them  callous  to  goodness  wherever  seen.  He 
who  hunts  for  flowers,  will  find  flowers ;  and  he  who 
loves  weeds,  may  find  weeds.  Let  it  be  remem- 
bered, that  no  man,  who  is  not  himself  mortally 
diseased,  will  have  a  relish  for  disease  in  others.  A 
swoln  wretch,  blotched  all  over  with  leprosy,  may 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  119 

grin  hideously  at  every  wart  or  excrescence  upon 
beauty.  A  wholesome  man  will  be  pained  at  it, 
and  seek  not  to  notice  it.  Reject,  then,  the  morbid 
ambition  of  the  Cynic,  or  cease  to  call  yourself  a 
man ! 

IV.  I  fear  that  few  villages  exist  without  a  speci- 
men of  the  Libertine. 

His  errand  into  this  world  is  to  explore  every 
depth  of  sensuality,  and  collect  upon  himself  the 
foulness  of  every  one.  He  is  proud  to  be  vile ;  his 
ambition  is  to  be  viler  than  other  men.  Were  we 
not  confronted  almost  daily  by  such  wretches,  it 
would  be  hard  to  believe  that  any  could  exist,  to 
whom  purity  and  decency  were  a  burden,  and  only 
corruption  a  delight.  This  creature  has  changed 
his  nature,  until  only  that  which  disgusts  a  pure 
mind  pleases  his.  He  is  lured  by  the  scent  of  car- 
rion. His  coarse  feelings,  stimulated  by  gross  exci- 
tants, are  insensible  to  delicacy.  The  exquisite 
bloom,  the  dew  and  freshness  of  the  flowers  of  the 
heart  which  delight  both  good  men  and  God  himself, 
he  gazes  upon,  as  a  Behemoth  would  gaze  enrap- 
tured upon  a  prairie  of  flowers.  It  is  so  much 
pasture.  The  forms,  the  odors,  the  hues  are  only  a 
mouthful  for  his  terrible  appetite.  Therefore,  his 
breath  blights  every  innocent  tiling.  He  sneers  at 
the  mention  of  purity,  and  leers  in  the  very  face  of 


120  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

Virtue,  as  though  she  were  herself  corrupt,  if  the 
truth  were  known.  He  assures  the  credulous 
disciple  that  there  is  no  purity;  that  its  appear- 
ances are  only  the  veils  which  cover  indulgence. 
Nay,  he  solicits  praise  for  the  very  openness  of  his 
evil ;  and  tells  the  listener  that  all  act  as  he  acts,  but 
only  few  are  courageous  enough  to  own  it.  But  the 
uttermost  parts  of  depravity  are  laid  open  only  when 
several  such  monsters  meet  together,  and  vie  with 
each  other,  as  we  might  suppose  shapeless  mud- 
monsters  disport  in  the  slimiest  ooze  of  the  ocean. 
They  dive  in  fierce  rivalry  which  shall  reach  the 
most  infernal  depth,  and  bring  up  the  blackest  sedi- 
ment. It  makes  the  blood  of  an  honest  man  run 
cold,  to  hear  but  the  echo  of  the  shameless  rehear- 
sals of  their  salacious  enterprises.  Each  strives  to 
tell  a  blacker  tale  than  the  other.  When  the  abom- 
ination of  their  actual  life  is  not  damnable  enough  to 
satisfy  the  ambition  of  their  unutterable  corruption, 
they  devise,  in  their  imagination,  scenes  yet  more 
flagrant ;  swear  that  they  have  performed  them,  and 
when  they  separate,  each  strives  to  make  his  lying 
boastings  true.  It  would  seem  as  if  miscreants  so 
loathsome  would  have  no  power  of  temptation 
upon  the  young.  Experience  shows  that  the  worst 
men  arc,  often,  the  most  skilful  in  touching  the 
springs   of  human   action.     A   young   man   knows 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  121 

little  of  life;  less  of  himself.  He  feels  in  his  bosom 
the  various  impulses,  wild  desires,  restless  cravings 
he  can  hardly  tell  for  what,  a  sombre  melancholy 
when  all  is  gay,  a  violent  exhilaration  when  others 
are  sober.  These  wild  gushes  of  feeling,  peculiar 
to  youth,  the  sagacious  tempter  has  felt,  has  studied, 
has  practised  upon,  until  he  can  sit  before  that  most 
capacious  organ,  the  human  mind,  knowing  every 
stop,  and  all  the  combinations,  and  competent  to 
touch  any  note  through  the  diapason.  As  a  ser- 
pent deceived  the  purest  of  mortals,  so  now  a  beast 
may  mislead  their  posterity.  He  begins  afar  off. 
He  decries  the  virtue  of  all  men  ;  studies  to  produce 
a  doubt  that  any  are  under  self-restraint.  He  un- 
packs his  filthy  stories,  plays  off  the  fire-works  of 
his  corrupt  imagination — its  blue-lights,  its  red- 
lights,  and  green-lights,  and  sparkle-spitting  lights; 
and  edging  in  upon  the  yielding  youth,  who  begins 
to  wonder  at  his  experience,  he  boasts  his  first  ex- 
ploits, he  hisses  at  the  purity  of  women;  he  grows 
yet  bolder,  tells  more  wicked  deeds,  and  invents 
worse  even  than  he  ever  performed,  though  he  has 
performed  worse  than  good  men  ever  thought  of. 
All  thoughts,  all  feelings,  all  ambition,  are  merged 
in  one  and  that  the  lowest,  vilest,  most  detestable 
ambition. 

Had  1  a  son  of  years,  I  could,  with  thanksgiving, 
11 


122  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

see  him  go  down  to  the  grave,  rather  than  fall  into 
the  maw  of  this  most  besotted  devil.  The  plague  is 
mercy,  the  cholera  is  love,  the  deadliest  fever  is 
refreshment  to  man's  body,  in  comparison  with  this 
epitome  and  essence  of  moral  disease.  He  lives 
among  men,  Hell's  ambassador  with  full  creden- 
tials; nor  can  we  conceive  that  there  should  be 
need  of  any  other  fiend  to  perfect  the  works  of  dark- 
ness, while  he  carries  his  body  among  us,  stuffed 
with  every  pestilent  drug  of  corruption.  The  heart 
of  every  virtuous  young  man  should  loathe  him ;  if 
he  speaks,  you  should  as  soon  hear  a  wolf  bark. 
Gather  around  you  the  venomous  snake,  the  poison- 
ous toad,  the  fetid  vulture,  the  prowling  hyena,  and 
their  company  would  be  an  honor  to  you  above  his; 
for  they  at  least  remain  within  their  own  nature; 
but  he  goes  out  of  his  nature  that  he  may  become 
more  vile  than  it  is  possible  for  a  mere  animal  to  be. 
He  is  hateful  to  religion,  hateful  to  virtue,  hateful 
to  decency,  hateful  to  the  coldest  morality.  The 
stenchful  ichor  of  his  dissolved  heart  has  flowed 
over  every  feeling  of  his  nature,  and  left  them  as  the 
burning  lava  leaves  the  garden,  the  orchard,  and  the 
vineyard.  And  it  is  a  wonder  that  the  bolt  of  God 
which  crushed  Sodom  does  not  slay  him.  Tt  is  a 
wonder  that  the  earth  does  not  refuse  the  burden 
and  open  and  swallow  him  up.     I  do  not  fear  that 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  123 

the  young  will  be  undermined  by  his  direct  assaults. 
But  some  will  imitate,  and  their  example  will  be 
again  freely  imitated,  and  finally,  a  remote  circle 
of  disciples  will  spread  the  diluted  contagion  among 
the  virtuous.  This  man  will  be  the  fountain-head, 
and  though  none  will  come  to  drink  at  a  hot  spring, 
yet  further  down  along  the  stream  it  sends  out,  will 
be  found  many  scooping  from  its  waters. 

V.  I  have  described  the  devil  in  his  native  form, 
but  he  sometimes  appears  as  an  angel  of  light. 
There  is  a  polished  Libertine,  in  manners  studi- 
ously refined,  in  taste  faultless ;  his  face  is  mild  and 
engaging ;  his  words  drop  as  pure  as  newly-made 
honey.  In  general  society,  he  would  rather  attract 
regard  as  a  model  of  purity,  and  suspicion  herself 
could  hardly  look  askance  upon  him.  Under  this 
brilliant  exterior,  his  heart  is  like  a  sepulchre,  full 
of  all  un cleanness.  Contrasted  with  the  gross  liber- 
tine, it  would  not  be  supposed  that  he  had  a  thought 
in  common  with  him.  If  his  heart  could  be  opened 
to  our  eyes,  as  it  is  to  God's,  we  should  perceive 
scarcely  dissimilar  feeling  in  respect  to  appetite. 
Professing  unbounded  admiration  of  virtue  in  gene- 
ral, he  leaves  not  in  private  a  point  untransgressed. 
His  reading  has  culled  every  glowing  picture  of  amo- 
rous poets,  every  tempting  scene  of  loose  dramatists, 
and  looser  novelists.     Enriched  by  these,  his  imagi- 


124  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

nation,  like  a  rank  soil,  is  overgrown  with  a  prodi- 
gal luxuriance  of  poison-herbs  and  deadly  flowers. 
Men,  such  as  this  man  is,  frequently  aspire  to  be  the 
censors  of  morality.  They  are  hurt  at  the  injitdi- 
cions  reprehensions  of  vice  from  the  pulpit !  They 
make  great  outcry  when  plain  words  are  employed 
to  denounce  base  things.  They  are  astonishingly 
sensitive  and  fearful  lest  good  men  should  soil  their 
iiands  with  too  much  meddling  with  evil.  Their 
cries  are  not  the  evidence  of  sensibility  to  virtue,  but 
of  too  lively  a  sensibility  to  vice.  Sensibility  is, 
often,  only  the  fluttering  of  an  impure  heart. 

At  the  vefy  time  that  their  voice  is  ringing  an 
alarm  against  immoral  reformations,  they  are  se- 
cretly skeptical  of  every  tenet  of  virtue,  and  practi- 
cally unfaithful  to  every  one.  Of  these  two  liber- 
tines, the  most  refined  is  the  more  dangerous.  The 
one  is  a  rattlesnake  which  carries  its  warning  with 
it;  the  other,  hiding  his  burnished  scales  in  the 
grass,  skulks  to  perform  unsuspected  deeds  in  dark- 
ness. The  one  is  the  visible  fog  and  miasm  of  the 
morass;  the  other  is  the  serene  air  of  a  tropical 
city,  which,  though  brilliant,  is  loaded  with  invisible 
pestilence. 

The  Politician.  If  there  be  a  man  on  earth 
whose  character  should  be  framed  of  the  most  ster- 
ling honesty,  and  whose  conduct  should  conform  to 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  125 

the  most  scrupulous  morality,  it  is  the  man  who  ad- 
ministers public  affairs.  The  most  romantic  notions 
of  integrity  are  here  not  extravagant.  As,  under 
our  institutions,  public  men  will  be,  upon  the  whole, 
fair  exponents  of  the  character  of  their  constituents, 
the  plainest  way  to  secure  honest  public  men,  is  to 
inspire  those  who  make  them,  with  a  right  under- 
standing of  what  political  character  ought  to  be. 
Young  men  should  be  prompted  to  descriminate  be- 
tween the  specious,  and  the  real ;  the  artful,  and  the 
honest ;  the  wise,  and  the  cunning ;  the  patriotic,  and 
the  pretender.     I  will  sketch — 

VI.  The  Demagogue.  The  lowest  of  politicians 
is  that  man  who  seeks  to  gratify  an  invariable  self- 
ishness by  pretending  to  seek  the  public  good.  For 
a  profitable  popularity  he  accommodates  himself  to 
all  opinions,  to  all  dispositions,  to  every  side,  and 
to  each  prejudice.  He  is  a  mirror,  with  no  face  of 
its  own,  but  a  smooth  surface  from  which  each 
man  of  ten  thousand  may  see  himself  reflected.  He 
glides  from  man  to  man  coinciding  with  their  views, 
pretending  their  feelings,  simulating  their  tastes : 
with  this  one,  he  hates  a  man ;  with  that  one,  he 
loves  the  same  man ;  he  favors  a  law,  and  he  dis- 
likes it ;  he  approves,  and  opposes  ;  he  is  on  both 
sides  at  once,  and  seemingly  wishes  that  he  could 
be  on  one  side  more  than  both  sides.  He  attends 
11* 


126  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

meetings  to  suppress  intemperance, — but  at  elections 
makes  every  grog-shop  free  to  all  drinkers.  He  can 
with  equal  relish  plead  most  eloquently  for  temper- 
ance, or  toss  off  a  dozen  glasses  in  a  dirty  grocery. 
He  thinks  that  there  is  a  time  for  everything,  and 
therefore,  at  one  time  he  swears  and  jeers  and  leers 
with  a  carousing  crew;  and  at  another  time,  having 
happily  been  converted,  he  displays  the  various  fea- 
tures of  devotion.  Indeed,  he  is  a  capacious  Chris- 
tian ;  an  epitome  of  faith.  He  piously  asks  the 
class-leader,  of  the  welfare  of  his  charge,  for  he  was 
always  a  Methodist  and  always  shall  be, — until  he 
meets  a  Presbyterian;  then  he  is  a  Presbyterian, 
old-school  or  new,  as  the  case  requires.  However, 
as  he  is  not  a  bigot,  he  can  afford  to  be  a  Baptist,  in 
a  good  Baptist  neighborhood,  and  with  a  wink  he 
tells  the  zealous  elder,  that  he  never  had  one  of  his 
children  baptized,  not  he !  He  whispers  to  the  Re- 
former that  he  abhors  all  creeds  but  Baptism  and 
the  Bible.  After  all  this,  room  will  be  found  in  his 
heart  for  the  fugitive  sects  also,  which  come  and  go 
like  clouds  in  a  summer  sky.  His  flattering  atten- 
tion at  church  edifies  the  simple-hearted  preacher, 
who  admires  that  a  plain  sermon  should  make  a 
man  whisper  amen  !  and  weep.  Upon  the  stump 
his  tact  is  no  less  rare.  He  roars  and  bawls  with 
courageous   plainness,   on   points    about   which   all 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  127 

agree :  but  on  subjects  where  men  differ,  his  meaning 
is  nicely  balanced  on  a  pivot  that  it  may  dip  either 
way.  He  depends  for  success  chiefly  upon  humor- 
ous stories.  A  glowing  patriot  a-telling  stories  is  a 
dangerous  antagonist;  for  it  is  hard  to  expose  the 
fallacy  of  a  hearty  laugh,  and  men  convulsed  with 
merriment  are  slow  to  perceive  in  what  way  an 
argument  is  a  reply  to  a  story. 

Perseverance,  effrontery,  good  nature,  and  versa- 
tile cunning  have  advanced  many  a  bad  man  higher 
than  a  good  man  could  attain.  Men  will  admit  that 
he  has  not  a  single  moral  virtue;  but  he  is  smart. 
We  object  to  no  man  for  amusing  himself  at  the 
fertile  resources  of  the  politician  here  painted ;  for 
sober  men  are  sometimes  pleased  with  the  grimaces 
and  mischievous  tricks  of  a  versatile  monkey ;  but 
would  it  not  be  strange  indeed  if  they  should  select 
him  for  a  ruler,  or  make  him  an  exemplar  to  their 
sons?  n— ; 

VII.  I  describe  next  a  more  respectable  and  more 
dangerous  politician — the  Party  Man.  He  has  asso- 
ciated his  ambition,  his  interests,  and  his  affections 
with  a  party.  He  prefers,  doubtless,  that  his  side 
should  be  victorious  by  the  best  means,  and  under 
the  championship  of  good  men;  but  rather  than  lose 
the  victory,  he  will  consent  to  any  means,  and  follow 
any  man.    Thus,  with  a  general  desire  to  be  upright, 


/ 


128  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

the  exigency  of  his  party  constantly  pushes  him  to 
dishonorable  deeds.  He  opposes  fraud  by  craft; 
lie,  by  lie;  slander,  by  counter-aspersion.  To  be 
sure  it  is  wrong  to  mis-state,  to  distort,  to  suppress 
or  color  facts ;  it  is  wrong  to  employ  the  evil  pas- 
sions ,  to  set  class  against  class ;  the  poor  against  the 
rich,  the  country  against  the  city,  the  farmer  against 
the  mechanic,  one  section  against  another  section. 
But  his  opponents  do  it,  and  if  they  will  take 
advantage  of  men's  corruption,  he  must,  or  lose  by 
his  virtue.  He  gradually  adopts  two  characters,  a 
personal  and  a  political  character.  All  the  requi- 
sitions of  his  conscience  he  obeys  in  his  private 
character ;  all  the  requisitions  of  his  party,  he  obeys 
in  his  political  conduct.  In  one  character  he  is  a 
man  of  principle ;  in  the  other,  a  man  of  mere  expe- 
dients. As  a  man  he  means  to  be  veracious,  honest, 
moral ;  as  a  politician,  he  is  deceitful,  cunning,  un- 
scrupulous,— anything  for  party.  As  a  man,  he 
abhors  the  slimy  demagogue;  as  a  politician,  he 
employs  him  as  a  scavenger.  As  a  man,  he  shrinks 
from  the  flagitiousness  of  slander;  as  a  politician, 
he  permits  it,  smiles  upon  it  in  others,  rejoices  in  the 
success  gained  by  it.  As  a  man,  he  respects  no  one 
who  is  rotten  in  heart ;  as  a  politician,  no  man 
through  whom  victory  may  be  gained  can  be  too 
bad.     As  a  citizen,  he  is  an  apostle  of  temperance ; 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  120 

as  a  politician,  he  puts  his  shoulder  under  the  men 
who  deluge  their  track  with  whisky,  marching  a 
crew  of  brawling  patriots,  pugnaciously  drunk,  to 
exercise  the  freeman's  noblest  franchise, — the  vote. 
As  a  citizen,  he  is  considerate  of  the  young,  and 
counsels  them  with  admirable  wisdom ;  then,  as  a 
politician,  he  votes  for  tools,  supporting  for  the  mag- 
istracy worshipful  aspirants  scraped  from  the  ditch, 
the  grog-shop,  and  the  brothel ;  thus  saying  by  deeds 
which  the  young  are  quick  to  understand  :  "  I  jested, 
when  I  warned  you  of  bad  company ;  for  you  per- 
ceive none  worse  than  those  whom  I  delight  to 
honor."  For  his  religion  he  will  give  up  all  his 
secular  interests;  but  for  his  politics  he  gives  up 
even  his  religion.  He  adores  virtue,  and  rewards  h 
vice.  Whilst  bolstering  up  unrighteous  measures, 
and  more  unrighteous  men,  he  prays  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  religion,  and  justice,  and  honor !  I 
would  to  God  that  his  prayer  might  be  answered 
upon  his  own  political  head ;  for  never  was  there  a 
place  where  such  blessings  were  more  needed  !  I 
am  puzzled  to  know  what  will  happen  at  death  to 
this  politic  Christian,  but  most  unchristian  politician. 
Will  both  of  his  characters  go  heavenward  together? 
If  the  strongest  prevails,  he  will  certainly  go  to  hell.  ^ 
If  his  weakest,  (which  is  his  Christian  character,) 
is  saved,   what  will  become  of  his  political  char- 


fr~V~Ts^ 


130  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

acter?  Shall  he  be  sundered  in  two,  as  Solomon 
proposed  to  divide  the  contested  infant?  If  this 
style  of  character  were  not  flagitiously  wicked,  it 
would  still  be  supremely  ridiculous — but  it  is  both. 
Let  young  men  mark  these  amphibious  exemplars 
to  avoid  their  influence.  The  young  have  nothing 
to  gain  from  those  who  are  saints  in  religion  and 
morals,  and  Machiavels  in  politics  ;  who  have  parti- 
tioned off  their  heart,  invited  Christ  into  one  half, 
and  Belial  into  the  other. 

It  is  wisely  said,  that  a  strictly  honest  man  who 
desires  purely  the  public  good,  who  will  not  crimi- 
nally flatter  the  people,  nor  take  part  in  lies,  or 
party-slander,  nor  descend  to  the  arts  of  the  rat,  the 
weasel,  and  the  fox,  cannot  succeed  in  politics.  It 
is  calmly  said  by  thousands  that  one  cannot  be  a 
politician  and  a  Christian.  Indeed,  a  man  is  liable 
to  downright  ridicule  if  he  speaks  in  good  earnest  of 
a  scrupulously  honest  and  religiously  moral  politi- 
cian. I  regard  all  such  representations  as  false.  We 
are  not  without  men  whose  career  is  a  refutation  of 
the  slander.  It  poisons  the  community  to  teach  this 
fatal  necessity  of  corruption  in  a  course  which  so 
many  must  pursue.  It  is  not  strange,  if  such  be 
the  popular  opinion,  that  young  men  include  the 
sacrifice  of  strict  integrity  as  a  necessary  element  of 
a  political  life,  and  calmly  agree  to  it,  as  to  an  inev- 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  131 

itable  misfortune,  rather  than  to  a  dark  and  volun- 
tary crime. 

Only  if  a  man  is  an  ignorant  heathen,  can  he 
escape  blame  for  such  a  decision  !  A  young  man,  at 
this  day,  in  this  land,  who  can  coolly  purpose  a  life 
of  most  unmanly  guile,  who  means  to  earn  his 
bread  and  fame  by  a  sacrifice  of  integrity,  is  one 
who  requires  only  temptation  and  opportunity  to 
become  a  felon.  What  a  heart  has  that  man,  who 
can  stand  in  the  very  middle  of  the  Bible,  with  its 
transcendent  truths  raising  their  glowing  fronts  on 
every  side  of  him,  and  feel  no  inspiration  but  that 
of  immorality  and  meanness !  He  knows  that  for 
him  have  been  founded  the  perpetual  institutions  of 
religion;  for  him  prophets  have  spoken,  miracles 
been  wrought,  heaven  robbed  of  its  Magistrate,  and 
the  earth  made  sacred  above  all  planets  as  the 
Redeemer's  burial-place; — he  knows  it  all,  and 
plunges  from  this  height  to  the  very  bottom  of  cor- 
ruption !  He  hears  that  he  is  immortal,  and  despises 
the  immortality ;  that  he  is  a  son  of  God,  and  scorns 
the  dignity ;  an  heir  of  heaven,  and  infamously  sells 
his  heirship,  and  himself,  for  a  contemptible  mess  of 
loathsome  pottage  !  Do  not  tell  me  of  any  excuses. 
It  is  a  shame  to  attempt  an  excuse !  If  there  were 
no  religion,  if  that  vast  sphere,  out  of  which  glow 
all  the  supereminent  truths  of  the  Bible,  was  a  mere 


.:■    - 


r> 


132  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

emptiness  and  void,  yet,  methinks,  the  very  idea  of 
Fatherland,  the  exceeding  precionsness  of  the  Laws 
and  Liberties  of  a  great  people,  would  enkindle  such 
a  high  and  noble  enthusiasm,  that  all  baser  feelings 
would  be  consumed  !  But  if  the  love  of  country,  a 
sense  of  character,  a  manly  regard  for  integrity,  the 
example  of  our  most  illustrious  men,  the  warnings 
of  religion  and  all  its  solicitations,  and  the  prospect 
of  the  future, — dark  as  Perdition  to  the  bad,  and 
light  as  Paradise  to  the  good, — cannot  inspire  a 
young  man  to  anything  higher  than  a  sneaking, 
fe^  •*  '  truckling,  dodging  scramble  for  fraudulent  fame  and 
t  -  dishonest  bread,  it  is  because  such  a  creature  has 

never  felt  one  sensation  of  manly  virtue ; — it  is  be- 
cause his  heart  is  a  howling  wilderness,  inhospitable 
to  innocence. 

Thus  have  I  sketched  a  few  of  the  characters 
which  abound  in  every  community;  dangerous,  not 
more  by  their  direct  temptations,  than  by  their  insen- 
sible influence.  The  sight  of  their  deeds,  of  their 
temporary  success,  their  apparent  happiness,  relaxes 
the  tense  rigidity  of  a  scrupulous  honesty,  inspires 
a  ruinous  liberality  of  sentiment  toward  vice,  and 
breeds  the  thoughts  of  evil ;  and  evil  thoughts 
arc  the  cockatrice's  eggs,  hatching  into  all  bad 
deeds. 

Remember,  if  by  any  of  these  you  arc  enticed  to 


PORTRAIT    GALLERY.  133 

ruin,  you  will  have  to  bear  it  alone  !  They  are 
strong  to  seduce,  but  heartless  to  sustain  their  vic- 
tims. They  will  exhaust  your  means,  teach  you  to 
despise  the  God  of  your  fathers,  lead  you  into  every 
sin,  go  with  you  while  you  afford  them  any  plea- 
sure or  profit,  and  then,  when  the  inevitable  disaster 
of  wickedness  begins  to  overwhelm  you,  they  will 
abandon  whom  they  have  debauched.  When,  at 
length,  death  gnaws  at  your  bones  and  knocks  at 
your  heart;  when  staggering,  and  worn  out,  your 
courage  wasted,  your  hope  gone,  your  purity,  and 
long,  long  ago  your  peace — will  he  who  first  enticed 
your  steps,  now  serve  your  extremity  with  one 
office  of  kindness?  Will  he  stay  your  head? — cheer 
your  dying  agony  with  one  word  of  hope? — or  light 
the  way  for  your  coward  steps  to  the  grave  ? — or 
weep  when  you  are  gone? — or  send  one  pitiful  scrap 
to  your  desolate  family  ?  What  reveller  wears 
crape  for  a  dead  drunkard? — what  gang  of  gam- 
blers ever  intermitted  a  game  for  the  death  of  a 
companion? — or  went  on  kind  missions  of  relief  to 
broken-down  fellow-gamblers?  What  harlot  weeps 
for  a  harlot  ? — what  debauchee  mourns  for  a  debau- 
chee? They  would  carouse  at  your  funeral,  and 
gamble  on  your  coffin.  If  one  flush  more  of  plea- 
sure were  to  be  had  by  it,  they  would  drink  shame 
and  ridicule  to  your  memory  out  of  your  own  skull, 
12  "*■ 


134  PORTRAIT    GALLERY. 

and  roar  in  bacchanal-revelry  over  your  damnation  ! 
All  the  shameless  atrocities  of  wicked  men  are  no- 
thing to  their  heartlessiiess  toward  each  other  when 
broken-down.  As  I  have  seen  worms  writhing  on 
a  carcass,  overcrawling  each  other,  and  elevating 
their  fiery  heads  in  petty  ferocity  against  each 
other,  while  all  were  enshrined  in  the  corruption  of 
,. .  k>.  \  a  common  carrion, — I  have  thought,  ah  !  shameful 

picture  of  wicked  men  tempting  each  other,  abetting 
each  other,  until  calamity  overtook  them,  and  then 
fighting  and  devouring  or  abandoning  each  other, 
without  pity,  or  sorrow,  or  compassion,  or  remorse. 
Evil  men  of  every  degree  will  use  you,  flatter  you, 
lead  you  on  until  you  are  useless; 'then,  if  the  vir- 
tuous do  not  pity  you,  or  God  compassionate,  you 
are  without  a  friend  in  the  universe. 

My  son,  if  sinners  entice  thee,  consent  thou  not. 
If  they  say,  Come  with  us,  .  .  .  we  shall  find  all 
precious  substance,  we  shall  fill  our  houses  with  spoil: 
cast  in  thy  lot  among  us  ;  let  us  all  have  one  purse : 
my  son,  walk  not  thou  in  the  way  with  them  ;  refrain 
thy  feet  from  their  path :  for  their  feet  run  to  evil, 
and  make  haste  to  shed  blood,  .  .  .  and  they  lay  in 
wait  for  their  own  blood,  they  lurk  privily  for  their 
own  lives. 


LECTURE   V 


Then  the  soldiers,  when  they  had  crucified  Jesus,  took  his  garments  and 
made  four  parts,  to  every  soldier  a  part,  and  also  his  coat.  Now  the 
coat  was  without  seam,  woven  from  the  top  throughout.  They  said 
therefore  among  themselves,  Let  us  not  rend  it,  but  cast  lots  for  it, 
whose  it  shall  be.     These  things  therefore  the  soldiers  did. 

I  have  condensed  into  one  account  the  separate 
parts  of  this  gambling  transaction  as  narrated  by 
each  evangelist.  How  marked  in  every  age  is  a 
Gambler's  character !  The  enraged  priesthood  of 
ferocious  sects  taunted  Christ's  dying  agonies ;  the 
bewildered  multitude,  accustomed  to  cruelty,  could 
shout;  but  no  earthly  creature,  but  a  Gambler,  could 
be  so  lost  to  all  feeling  as  to  sit  down  coolly  under  a 
dying  man  to  wrangle  for  his  garments,  and  arbi- 
trate their  avaricious  differences  by  casting  dice  for 
his  tunic,  with  hands  spotted  with  his  spattered 
blood,  warm  and  yet  undried  upon  them.  The  de-  ^-^% 
scendants  of  these  patriarchs  of  gambling,  however, 
have  taught  us  that  there  is  nothing  possible  to  hell, 
uncongenial  to  these,  its  elect  saints.     In  this  lecture 


136  GAMBLERS 

it  is  my  disagreeable  task  to  lead  your  steps  down 
the  dark  path  to  their  cruel  haunts,  there  to  exhibit 
their  infernal  passions,  their  awful  ruin,  and  their 
ghastly  memorials.  In  this  house  of  darkness,  amid 
fierce  faces  gleaming  with  the  fire  of  fiercer  hearts, 
amid  oaths  and  groans  and  fiendish  orgies,  ending 
in  murders  and  strewn  with  sweltering  corpses, — do 

.l     not  mistake,  and  suppose  yourself  in  Hell, — you  are 

'        only  in  its  precincts  and  vestibule. 


Gambling  is  the  staking  or  winning  of  property 
upon  mere  hazard.  The  husbandman  renders  pro- 
duce for  his  gains;  the  mechanic  renders  the  pro- 
duct of  labor  and  skill  for  his  gains ;  the  gambler 
renders  for  his  gain  the  sleights  of  useless  skill,  or 
more  often,  downright  cheating.  Betting  is  gam- 
bling; there  is  no  honest  equivalent  to  its  gains. 
Dealings  in  fancy-stocks  are  oftentimes  sheer  gam- 
bling, with  all  its  worst  evils.  Profits  so  earned  are 
no  better  than  the  profits  of  dice,  cards,  or  hazard 
When  skill  returns  for  its  earnings  a  useful  service, 
as  knowledge,  beneficial  amusements,  or  profitable 
labor,  it  is  honest  commerce.  The  skill  of  a  pilot  in 
threading  a  narrow  channel,  the  skill  of  a  lawyer  in 


AND    GAMBLING.  137 

threading  a  still  more  intricate  one,  are  as  substan-  *"*"*'** 
tial  equivalents  for  a  price  received,  as  if  they  were 
merchant  goods  or  agricultural   products.     But  all 
gains  of  mere  skill  which   result  in  no  real  benefit,    *  * '  ' ' 
are  gambling  gains. 

Gaming,  as  it  springs  from  a  principle  of  our  na- 
ture, has,  in  some  form,  probably  existed  in  every 
age.  We  trace  it  injremote  periods  and  among  the 
most  barbarous  people.  It  loses  none  of  its  fasci- 
nations among  a  civilized  people.  On  the  contrary, 
the  habit  of  fierce  stimulants,  the  jaded  appetite  of 
luxury,  and  the  satiety  of  wealth,  seem  to  invite 
the  master-excitant.  Our  land,  not  apt  to  be  behind 
in  good  or  evil,  is  full  of  gambling  in  all  its  forms — 
the  gambling  of  commerce,  the  gambling  of  bets  and 
wagers,  and  the  gambling  of  games  of  hazard. 
There  is  gambling  in  refined  circles,  and  in  the  low- 
est; among  the  members  of  our  national  govern- 
ment, and  of  our  state-governments.  Thief  gambles 
with  thief,  in  jail;  the  judge  who  sent  them  there,  9* 
the  lawyer  who  prosecuted,  and  the  lawyer  who  $r 
defended  them,  often  gamble  too.  This  vice,  once 
almost  universally  prevalent  among  the  Western  /**' 
bar,  and  still  too  frequently  disgracing  its  members, 
is,  however,  we  are  happy  to  believe,  decreasing. 
In  many  circuits,  not  long  ago,  and  in  some  now, 
the  judge,  the  jury,  and  the  bar,  shuffled  cards  by  k*sf* 
12* 


CrpUA 


138  GAMBLERS 

^  night,  and  law  by  day — dealing  out  money  and  jus- 
tice alike.  The  clatter  of  dice  and  cards  disturbs 
your  slumber  on  the  boat,  and  rings  drowsily  from 
the  upper  rooms  of  the  hotel.  This  vice  pervades 
the  city,  extends  over  every  line  of  travel,  and 
infests  the  most  moral  districts.  The  secreted  lamp 
dimly  lights  the  apprentices  to  their  game ;  with  un- 
suspected disobedience,  boys  creep  out  of  their  beds 
to  it ;  it  goes  on  in  the  store  close  by  the  till;  it  haunts 
the  shop.  The  scoundrel  in  his  lair,  the  scholar  in 
his  room ;  the  pirate  on  his  ship,  gay  women  at  par- 
ties ;  loafers  in  the  street-corner,  public  functiona- 
ries in  their  offices;  the  beggar  under  the  hedge, 
the  rascal  in  prison,  and  some  professors  of  religion 
in  the  somnolent  hours  of  the  Sabbath, — waste  their 
energies  by  the  ruinous  excitement  of  the  game. 
Besides  these  players,  there  are  troops  of  professional 
gamblers,  troops  of  hangers-on,  troops  of  youth  to 
be  drawn  in.  An  inexperienced  eye  would  detect 
in  our  peaceful  towns  no  signs  of  this  vulture-flock ; 
— so  in  a  sunny  day,  when  all  cheerful  birds  are 
singing  merrily,  not  a  blizzard  can  be  seen ;  but  let 
a  carcass  drop,  and  they  will  push  forth  their  gaunt 
heads  from  their  gloomy  roosts,  and  come  flapping 
from  the  dark  woods  to  speck  the  air,  and  dot  the 
ground  with  their  numbers. 

The  universal  prevalence  of  this  vice  is  a  reason 


hf 


AND   GAMBLING.  139 

for  parental  vigilance ;  and  a  reason  of  remonstrance 
from  the  citizen,  the  parent,  the  minister  of  the  gos-    $+ 
pel,  the  patriot,  and  the  press.     I  propose  to  trace  its 
opening,  describe  its  subjects,  and  detail  its  effects. 

A  young  man,  proud  of  freedom,  anxious  to  exert 
his  manhood,  has  tumbled  his  Bible,  and  sober  books, 
and  letters  of  counsel,  into  a  dark  closet.  He  has 
learned  various  accomplishments,  to  flirt,  to  boast, 
to  swear,  to  fight,  to  drink.  He  has  let  every  one 
of  these  chains  be  put  aroimd  him,  upon  the  solemn 
promise  of  Satan  that  he  would  take  them  off  when- 
ever he  wished.  Hearing  of  the  artistic  feats  of 
eminent  gamblers,  he  emulates  them.  So,  he  pon- 
ders the  game.  He  teaches  what  he  has  learned  to 
his  shopmates,  and  feels  himself  their  master.  As 
yet  he  has  never  played  for  stakes.  It  begins  thus  : 
Peeping  into  a  book-store,  he  watches  till  the  sober 
customers  go  out;  then  slips  in,  and  with  assumed  f 

boldness,  not  concealing  his  shame,  he  asks  for  iL^/ 
cards,  buys  them,  and  hastens  out.  The  first  game 
is  to  pay  for  the  cards.  After  the  relish  of  playing 
for  a  stake,  no  game  can  satisfy  them  without  a 
stake.  A  few  nuts  are  staked ;  then  a  bottle  of  wine ; 
an  oyster-supper.  At  last  they  can  venture  a  six- 
pence in  actual  money — just  for  the  amusement  of  it. 
I  need  go  no  further — whoever  wishes  to  do  any-  ^° 
thing  with  the  lad,  can  do  it  now.     If  properly  plied, 


140  GAMBLERS 

and  gradually  led,  he  will  go  to  any  length,  and  stop 
only  at  the  gallows.  Do  you  doubt  it?  let  us  trace 
him  a  year  or  two  further  on. 

With  his  father's  blessing,  and  his  mother's  tears, 
the  young  man  departs  from  home.  He  has  received 
his  patrimony,  and  embarks  for  life  and  indepen- 
dence. Upon  his  journey  he  rests  at  a  city ;  visits 
the  "school  of  morals;"  lingers  in  more  suspicious 
places ;  is  seen  by  a  sharper ;  and  makes  his  acquain- 
tance. The  knave  sits  by  him  at  dinner ;  gives  him 
the  news  of  the  place,  and  a  world  of  advice ; 
cautions  him  against  sharpers;  inquires  if  he  has 
money,  and  charges  him  to  keep  it  secret;  offers 
himself  to  make  with  him  the  rounds  of  the  town, 
and  secure  him  from  imposition.  At  length,  that  he 
may  see  all,  he  is  taken  to  a  gaming-house,  but, 
with  apparent  kindness,  warned  not  to  play.  He 
stands  by  to  see  the  various  fortunes  of  the  game ; 
some,  forever  losing;  some,  touch  what  number 
they  will,  gaining  piles  of  gold.  Looking  in  thirst 
where  wine  is  free.  A  glass  is  taken ;  another  of  a 
better  kind ;  next  the  best  the  landlord  has,  and  two 
glasses  of  that.  A  change  comes  over  the  youth; 
his  exhilaration  raises  his  courage,  and  lulls  his 
caution.  Gambling  seen,  seems  a  different  thing 
from  gambling  painted  by  a  pious  father !  Just  then 
his  friend  remarks  that  one  might  easily  double  his 


AND    GAMBLING.  141 

money  by  a  few  ventures,  but  that  it  was,  perhaps,  <£ 
prudent  not  to  risk.  Only  this  was  needed  to  fire 
his  mind.  What!  only  prudence  between  me  and 
gain  7  Then  that  shall  not  be  long  !  He  stakes ; 
he  wins.  Stakes  again ;  wins  again.  Glorious  !  I 
am  the  lucky  man  that  is  to  break  the  bank  !  He 
stakes,  and  wins  again.  His  pulse  races;  his  face 
burns;  his  blood  is  up,  and  fear  gone.  He  loses; 
loses  again  ;  loses  all  his  winnings ;  loses  more.  But 
fortune  turns  again;  he  wins  anew.  He  has  now 
lost  all  self-command.  Gains  excite  him,  and  losses 
excite  him  more.  He  doubles  his  stakes ;  then 
trebles  them — and  all  is  swept.  He  rushes  on,  puts 
up  his  whole  purse,  and  loses  the  whole  !  Then  he 
would  borrow ;  no  man  will  lend.  He  is  desperate, 
he  will  fight  at  a  word.  He  is  led  to  the  street,  and 
thrust  out.  The  cool  breeze  which  blows  upon  his 
fevered  cheek,  wafts  the  slow  and  solemn  stroke 
of  the  clock, — one, — two, — three, — four  ;  four  of  the 
morning!  Quick  work  of  ruin! — an  innocent  man  j 
destroyed  in  a  night !  He  staggers  to  his  hotel, 
remembers  as  he  enters  it,  that  he  has  not  even 
enough  to  pay  his  bill.  It  now  flashes  upon  him 
that  his  friend,  who  never  had  left  him  for  an  hour 
before,  had  stayed  behind  where  his  money  is,  and, 
doubtless,  is  laughing  over  his  spoils.  His  blood 
boils  with  rage.     But  at  length  comes  up  the  remem- 


rw2 


<*yi 


142  GAMBLERS 

brance  of  home ;  a  parent's  training  and  counsels 
for  more  than  twenty  years,  destroyed  in  a  night ! 
"  Good  God  !  what  a  wretch  I  have  been  !  I  am 
not  fit  to  live.  I  cannot  go  home.  I  am  a  stranger 
here.  Oh  !  that  I  were  dead  !  Oh  !  that  I  had  died 
before  I  knew  this  guilt,  and  were  lying  where  my 
sister  lies  !  Oh  God  !  Oh  God  !  my  head  will  burst 
with  agony!"  He  stalks  his  lonely  room  with 
an  agony  which  only  the  young  heart  knows  in 
its  first  horrible  awakening  to  remorse — when  it 
looks  despair  full  in  the  face,  and  feels  its  hideous 
incantations  tempting  him  to  suicide.  Subdued  at 
length  by  agony,  cowed  and  weakened  by  distress, 
he  is  sought  again  by  those  who  plucked  him. 
Cunning  to  subvert  inexperience,  to  raise  the  evil 
passions,  and  to  allay  the  good,  they  make  him  their 
pliant  tool. 

Farewell,  young  man !     I  see  thy  steps  turned  to 
that  haunt  again  ! .  I  see  hope  lighting  thy  face ;  but 
it  is  a  lurid  light,  and  never  came  from  heaven. 
.  Stop  before  that  threshold  ! — turn,  and  bid  farewell 

(  to  home  ! — farewell  to  innocence  ! — farewell  to  ven- 
erable father  and  aged  mother  ! — the  next  step  shall 
part  thee  from  them  all  forever.  And  now  hence- 
forth be  a  mate  to  thieves,  a  brother  to  corruption. 
Thou  hast  made  a  league  with  death,  and  unto 
death  shalt  thou  go. 


AND    GAMBLING.  143 

Let  us  here  pause,  to  draw  the  likeness  of  a  few 
who  stand  conspicuous  in  that  vulgar  crowd  of  gam- 
blers, with  which  hereafter  he  will  consort.  The 
first  is  a  taciturn,  quiet  man.  No  one  knows  when 
he  comes  into  town,  or  when  he  leaves.  No  man 
hears  of  his  gaining ;  for  he  never  boasts,  nor  reports 
his  luck.  He  spends  little  for  parade;  his  money 
seems  to  go  and  come  only  through  the  game.  He 
reads  none,  converses  none,  is  neither  a  glutton  nor 
a  hard  drinker :  he  sports  few  ornaments,  and  wears 
plain  clothing.  Upon  the  whole,  he  seems  a  gentle- 
manly man ;  and  sober  citizens  say,  "  his  only  fault 
is  gambling."  What  then  is  this  u  only  fault?"  In 
his  heart  he  has  the  most  intense  and  consuming 
lust  of  play.  He  is  quiet  because  every  passion  is 
absorbed  in  one  ;  and  that  one  burning  at  the  highest 
flame.  He  thinks  of  nothing  else,  cares  only  for 
this.  All  other  things,  even  the  hottest  lusts  of  other 
men,  are  too  cool  to  be  temptations  to  him ;  so  much 
deeper  is  the  style  of  his  passions.  He  will  sit  upon 
his  chair,  and  no  man  shall  see  him  move  for  hours, 
except  to  play  his  cards.  He  sees  none  come  in, 
none  go  out.  Death  might  groan  on  one  side  of 
the  room,  and  marriage  might  sport  on  the  other, 
— he.  would  know  neither.  Every  created  influ- 
ence is  shut  out;  one  thing  only  moves  him — the 
game;   and   that   leaves   not   one   pulse  of  excita- 


k*s/> 


1 44  GAMBLERS 

» 

bility  unaroused,    but  stirs   his   soul   to   the  very 
dregs. 

Yery  different  is  the  roistering  gamester.  He 
bears  a  jolly  face,  a  glistening  eye  something  watery 
through  watching  and  drink.  His  fingers  are  man- 
acled in  rings ;  his  bosom  glows  with  pearls  and 
diamonds.  He  learns  the  time  which  he  wastes 
from  a  watch  full  gorgeously  carved,  (and  not  with 
the  most  modest  scenes,)  and  slung  around  his  neck 
by  a  ponderous  golden  chain.  There  is  not  so  splen- 
did a  fellow  to  be  seen  sweeping  through  the  streets. 
The  landlord  makes  him  welcome — he  will  bear  a 
full  bill.  The  tailor  smiles  like  May — he  will  buy 
half  his  shop.  Other  places  bid  him  welcome — he 
*"}      will  bear  large  stealings. 

Like  the  Judge,  he  makes  his  circuit,  but  not  for 
justice;  like  the  Preacher,  he  has  his  appointments, 
but  not  for  instruction.  His  circuits  are  the  race- 
courses, the  crowded  capital,  days  of  general  convo- 
cation, conventions,  and  mass-gatherings.  He  will 
flame  on  the  race-track,  bet  his  thousands,  and  beat 
the  ring  at  swearing,  oaths  vernacular,  imported, 
simple,  or  compound.  The  drinking-booth  smokes 
when  he  draws  in  his  welcome  suit.  Did  you  see 
him  only  by  day,  flaming  in  apparel,  jovial  and  free- 
hearted at  the  Restaurateur  or  Hotel,  you  would 
think  him  a  Prince  let  loose — a  cross  between  Prince 
Hal  and  Falstaff. 


AND    GAMBLING.  145 

But  night  is  his  day.  These  are  mere  exercises, 
and  brief  prefaces  to  his  real  accomplishments.  He 
is  a  good  fellow,  who  dares  play  deeper ;  he  is  wild 
indeed,  who  seems  wilder ;  and  he  is  keen  indeed, 
who  is  sharper  than  he  is,  after  all  this  show  of 
frankness.  No  one  is  quicker,  slyer,  and  more  alert 
at  a  game.  He  can  shuffle  the  pack  till  an  honest 
man  would  as  soon  think  of  looking  for  a  particu- 
lar drop  of  water  in  the  ocean,  as  for  a  particular 
card  in  any  particular  place.  Perhaps  he  is  igno- 
rant which  is  at  the  top  and  which  at  the  bottom  ! 
At  any  rate,  watch  him  closely,  or  you  will  get  a 
lean  hand  and  he  a  fat  one.  A  plain  man  would 
think  him  a  wizard  or  the  devil.  When  he  touches 
a  pack  they  seem  alive,  and  acting  to  his  will  rather 
than  his  touch.  He  deals  them  like  lightning,  they 
rain  like  snow-flakes,  sometimes  one,  sometimes 
two,  if  need  be  four  or  five  together,  and  his  hand 
hardly  moved.  If  he  loses,  very  well,  he  laughs: 
if  he  gains,  he  only  laughs  a  little  more.  Full  of 
stories,  full  of  songs,  full  of  wit,  full  of  roistering 
spirit — yet  do  not  trespass  too  much  upon  his  good 
nature  with  insult!  All  this  outside  is  only  the 
spotted  hide  which  covers  the  tiger.  He  who  pro- 
vokes this  man,  shall  see  what  lightning  can  break 
out  of  a  summer-seeming  cloud  ! 

These  do  not  fairly  represent  the  race  of  gam- 
13 


146  GAMBLERS 

biers, — conveying  too  favorable  an  impression. 
There  is  one,  often  met  on  Steam-boats,  travelling 
solely  to  gamble.  He  has  the  servants,  or  steward, 
or  some  partner,  in  league  with  him,  to  fleece  every 
unwary  player  whom  he  inveigles  to  a  game.  He 
deals  falsely;  heats  his  dupe  to  madness  by  drink, 
drinking  none  himself;  watches  the  signal  of  his 
accomplice  telegraphing  his  opponent's  hand ;  at  a 
stray  look,  he  will  slip  your  money  off  and  steal  it. 
To  cover  false  playing,  or  to  get  rid  of  paying  losses, 
he  will  lie  fiercely,  and  swear  uproariously,  and 
break  up  the  play  to  fight  with  knife  or  pistol — 
first  scraping  the  table  of  every  penny.  When  the 
passengers  are  asleep,  he  surveys  the  luggage,  to  see 
what  may  be  worth  stealing ;  he  pulls  a  watch  from 
under  the  pillow  of  one  sleeper;  fumbles  in  the 
pockets  of  another ;  and  gathers  booty  throughout 
the  cabin.  Leaving  the  boat  before  morning,  he 
appears  at  some  village  hotel,  a  magnificent  gentle- 
man, a  polished  traveller,  or  even  a  distinguished 
nobleman  ! 

There  is  another  gambler,  cowardly,  sleek,  steal- 
thy, humble,  mousing,  and  mean — a  simple  blood- 
sucker. For  money,  he  will  be  a  tool  to  other 
gamblers;  steal  for  them,  and  from  them;  he  plays 
the  jackal,  and  searches  victims  for  them,  humbly 
satisfied  to  pick  the  bones  afterward.    Thus,  (to  em- 


s^ 


AND    GAMBLING.  147 

ploy  his  own  language,)  he  ropes  in  the  inexperi- 
enced young,  flatters  them,  teaches  them,  inflames 
their  passions,  purveys  to  their  appetites,  cheats 
them,  debauches  them,  draws  them  down  to  his  own 
level,  and  then  lords  it  over  them  in  malignant 
meanness.  Himself  impure,  he  plunges  others  into 
laseiviousness  ;  and  with  a  train  of  reeking  satellites, 
he  revolves  a  few  years  in  the  orbit  of  the  game,  the 
brothel,  and  the  doctors  shop;  then  sinks  and  dies: 
the  world  is  purer,  and  good  men  thank  God  that  he 
is  gone. 

Besides  these,  time  would  fail  me  to  describe  the 
ineffable  dignity  of  a  gambling  judge;  the  cautious, 
phlegmatic  lawyer,  gambling  from  sheer  avarice ; 
the  broken-down  and  cast-away  politician,  seeking 
in  the  game  the  needed  excitement,  and  a  fair  field 
for  all  the  base  tricks  he  once  played  off  as  a  pa- 
triot; the  pert,  sharp,  keen,  jockey-gambler;  the 
soaked,  obese,  plethoric,  wheezing,  bacchanal ;  and 
a  crowd  of  ignoble  worthies,  wearing  all  the  badges 
and  titles  of  vice,  throughout  its  base  peerage. 

A  detail  of  the  evils  of  gambling  should  be  pre- 
ceded by  an  illustration  of  that  constitution  of  mind 
out  of  which  they  mainly  spring — I  mean  its  exci- 
tability. The  body  is  not  stored  with  a  fixed 
amount  of  strength,  nor  the  mind  with  a  uniform 
measure  of  excitement;   but  both  are  capable,  by 


148  GAMBLERS 

stimulation,  of  expansion  of  strength  or  feeling, 
almost  without  limit.  Experience  shows,  that  within 
certain  bounds,  excitement  is  healthful  and  neces- 
sary, but  beyond  this  limit,  exhausting  and  destruc- 
tive. Men  are  allowed  to  choose  between  moderate 
but  long-continued  excitement,  and  intense  but  short- 
lived excitement.  Too  generally  they  prefer  the 
latter.  To  gain  this  intense  thrill,  a  thousand  meth- 
ods are  tried.  The  inebriate  obtains  it  by  drink 
and  drugs ;  the  politician,  by  the  keen  interest  of  the 
h  civil  campaign;  the  young  by  amusements  which 

violently  inflame  and  gratify  their  appetites.  When 
once  this  higher  flavor  of  stimulus  has  been  tasted, 
all  that  is  less  becomes  vapid  and  disgustful.  A 
sailor  tries  to  live  on  shore  ;  a  few  weeks  suffice.  To 
be  sure,  there  is  no  hardship,  or  cold,  or  suffering; 
but  neither  is  there  the  strong  excitement  of  the 
ocean,  the  gale,  the  storm,  and  the  world  of  strange 
sights.  The  politician  perceives  that  his  private 
affairs  are  deranged,  his  family  neglected,  his  char- 
acter aspersed,  his  feelings  exacerbated.  When  men 
hear  him  confess  that  his  career  is  a  hideous  waking 
dream,  the  race  vexatious,  and  the  end  vanity,  they 
wonder  that  he  clings  to  it ;  but  he  knows  that  no- 
thing but  the  fiery  wine  which  he  has  tasted  will  rouse 
up  that  intense  excitement,  now  become  necessary 
to  his  happiness.     For  this  reason,  great  men  often 


AND    GAMBLING.  149 

cling  to  public  office  with  all  its  envy,  jealousy, 
care,  toil,  hates,  competitions,  and  unrequited  fidel- 
ity :  for  these  very  disgusts,  and  the  perpetual  strug- 
gle, strike  a  deeper  chord  of  excitement  than  is  pos- 
sible to  the  gentler  touches  of  home,  friendship  and 
love.  Here  too  is  the  key  to  the  real  evil  of  promis- 
cuous novel-reading,  to  the  habit  of  reverie  and 
mental  romancing.  None  of  life's  common  duties 
can  excite  to  such  wild  pleasure  as  these ;  and  they 
must  be  continued,  or  the  mind  reacts  into  the  leth- 
argy of  fatigue  and  ennui.  It  is  upon  this  principle 
that  men  love  pain  ;  suffering  is  painful  to  a  specta- 
tor ;  but  in  tragedies,  at  public  executions,  at  pugil- 
istic combats,  at  cock-fightings,  horse-races,  bear- 
baitings,  bull-fights,  gladiatorial  shows,  it  excites  a 
jaded  mind  as  nothing  else  can.     A  tyrant  torments  J. 

for  the  same  reason  that  a  girl  reads  her  tear-bedewed  *  * 
romance,  or  an  inebriate  drinks  his  dram.  No 
longer  susceptible  even  to  inordinate  stimuli,  actual 
moans,  and  shrieks,  and  the  writhing  of  utter  agony, 
just  suffice  to  excite  his  worn-out  sense,  and  inspire, 
probably,  less  emotion  than  ordinary  men  have  in 
listening  to  a  tragedy  or  reading  a  bloody  novel. 

Gambling  is  founded  upon  the  very  worst  perver-     L  f  ^ 
sion  of  this  powerful  element  of  our  nature.     It  heats  ' 

every  part  of  the  mind  like  an  oven.     The  faculties 
which  produce  calculation,  pride  of  skill,  of  superi- 
13* 


150  GAMBLERS 

ority,  love  of  gain,  hope,  fear,  jealousy,  hatred,  are 
absorbed  in  the  game,  and  exhilarated,  or  exacerba- 
ted by  victory  or  defeat.  These  passions  are,  doubt- 
less, excited  in  men  by  the  daily  occurrences  of  life ; 
but  then  they  are  transient,  and  counteracted  by  a 
thousand  grades  of  emotion,  which  rise  and  fall  like 
the  undulations  of  the  sea.  But  in  gambling  there 
is  no  intermission,  no  counteraction.  The  whole 
mind  is  excited  to  the  utmost,  and  concentrated  at 
its  extreme  point  of  excitation  for  hours  and  days, 
with  the  additional  waste  of  sleepless  nights,  pro- 
fuse drinking,  and  other  congenial  immoralities. 
Every  other  pursuit  becomes  tasteless ;  for  no  ordi- 
nary duty  has  in  it  a  stimulus  which  can  scorch  a 
k' p  mind  which  now  refuses  to  burn  without  blazing,  or 
to  feel  an  interest  which  is  not  intoxication.  The 
victim  of  excitement  is  like  a  mariner  who  ventures 
into  the  edge  of  a  whirlpool  for  a  motion  more  exhil- 
arating than  plain  sailing.  He  is  unalarmed  during 
the  first  few  gyrations,  for  escape  is  easy.  But  each 
turn  sweeps  him  further  in;  the  power  augments, 
the  speed  becomes  terrific  as  he  rushes  toward  the 
vortex ;  all  escape  now  hopeless.  A  noble  ship  went 
in ;  it  is  spit  out  in  broken  fragments,  splintered 
spars,  crushed  masts,  and  cast  up  for  many  a  rood 
along  the  shore.  The  specific  evils  of  gambling 
may  now  be  almost  imagined. 


AND    GAMBLING.  151 

I.  It  diseases  the  mind,  unfitting  it  for  the  duties 
of  life.  Gamblers  are  seldom  industrious  men  in 
any  useful  vocation.  A  gambling  mechanic  finds 
his  labor  less  relishful  as  his  passion  for  play  in- 
creases. He  grows  unsteady,  neglects  his  work, 
becomes  unfaithful  to  promises;  what  he  performs 
he  slights.  Little  jobs  seem  little  enough ;  he  desires 
immense  contracts,  whose  uncertainty  has  much  the 
excitement  of  gambling — and  for  the  best  of  reasons ; 
and  in  the  pursuit  of  great  and  sudden  profits,  by 
wild  schemes,  he  stumbles  over  into  ruin,  leaving  all 
who  employed  or  trusted  him  in  the  rubbish  of  his 
speculations. 

A  gambling  lawyer,  neglecting  the  drudgery  of  J,  A 
his  profession,  will  court  its  exciting  duties.  To 
explore  authorities,  compare  reasons,  digest,  and 
write, — this  is  tiresome.  But  to  advocate,  to  engage 
in  fiery  contests  with  keen  opponents,  this  is  nearly  * 
as  good  as  gambling.  Many  a  ruined  client  has 
cursed  the  law,  and  cursed  a  stupid  jury,  and  cursed 
everybody  for  his  irretrievable  loss,  except  his  law- 
yer, who  gambled  all  night  when  he  should  have 
prepared  the  case,  and  came  half  asleep  and  de- 
bauched into  court  in  the  morning  to  lose  a  good 
case  mismanaged,  and  snatched  from  his  gambling 
hands  by  the  art  of  sober  opponents. 

A  gambling  student,  if  such  a  thing  can  be,  with- 


152 


GAMBLERS 


/ 


draws  from  thoughtful  authors  to  the  brilliant  and 
spicy ;  from  the  pure  among  these,  to  the  sharp  and 
ribald ;  from  all  reading  about  depraved  life,  to  see- 
ing ;  from  sight  to  experience.  Gambling  vitiates 
the  imagination,  corrupts  the  tastes,  destroys  the 
industry — for  no  man  will  drudge  for  cents,  who 
gambles  for  dollars  by  the  hundred;  or  practise  a 
piddling  economy,  while,  with  almost  equal  indiffer- 
ence, he  makes  or  loses  five  hundred  in  a  night. 

II.  For  a  like  reason,  it  destroys  all  domestic 
habits  and  affections.  Home  is  a  prison  to  an  invet- 
erate gambler;  there  is  no  air  there  that  he  can 
breathe.  For  a  moment  he  may  sport  with  his 
children,  and  smile  upon  his  wife ;  but  his  heart,  its 
strong  passions,  are  not  there.  A  little  branch-rill 
may  flow  through  the  family,  but  the  deep  river  of 
his  affections  flows  away  from  home.  On  the  issue 
of  a  game,  Tacitus  narrates  that  the  ancient  Ger- 
mans would  stake  their  property,  their  wives,  their 
children,  and  themselves.  What  less  than  this  is  it, 
when  a  man  will  stake  that  property  which  is  to 
give  his  family  bread,  and  that  honor  which  gives 
them  place  and  rank  in  society  ? 

When  playing  becomes  desperate  gambling,  the 
heart  is  a  hearth  where  all  the  fires  of  gentle  feelings 
have  smouldered  to  ashes;  and  a  thorough-paced 
gamester  could  rattle  dice  in  a  charnel-house,  and 


AND    GAMBLING.  153 

wrangle  for  his  stakes  amid  murder,  and  pocket  gold 
dripping  with  the  blood  of  his  own  kindred. 

III.  Gambling  is  the  parent  and  companion  of 
every  vice  which  pollutes  the  heart,  or  injures 
society. 

It  is  a  practice  so  disallowed  among  Christians, 
and  so  excluded  by  mere  moralists,  and  so  hateful 
to  industrious  and  thriving  men,  that  those  who 
practise  it  are  shut  up  to  themselves ;  unlike  lawful 
pursuits,  it  is  not  modified  or  restrained  by  collision 
with  others.  Gamblers  herd  with  gamblers.  They 
tempt  and  provoke  each  other  to  all  evil,  without 
affording  one  restraint,  and  without  providing  the 
counterbalance  of  a  single  virtuous  impulse.  They 
are  like  snakes  coiling  among  snakes,  poison  and 
poisoning ;  like  plague-patients,  infected  and  diffus- 
ing infection;  each  sick,  and  all  contagious.  It  is 
impossible  to  put  bad  men  together  and  not  have 
them  grow  worse.  The  herding  of  convicts  promis- 
cuously, produced  such  a  fermentation  of  depravity, 
that,  long  ago,  legislators  forbade  it.  When  criminals, 
out  of  jail,  herd  together  by  choice,  the  same  corrupt 
nature  will  doom  them  to  growing  loathsomeness, 
because  to  increasing  wickedness. 

IV.  It  is  a  provocative  of  thirst.  The  bottle  is 
almost  as  needful  as  the  card,  the  ball,  or  the  dice. 
Some  are  seduced  to  drink;  some  drink  for  imita- 


154  GAMBLERS 

tion,  at  first,  and  fashion.  When  super-excitements, 
at  intervals,  subside,  their  victim  cannot  bear  the 
deathlike  gloom  of  the  reaction;  and,  by  drugs  or 
liquor,  wind  up  their  system  to  the  glowing  point 
again.  Therefore,  drinking  is  the  invariable  con- 
comitant of  the  theatre,  circus,  race-course,  gaming- 
table, and  of  all  amusements  which  powerfully 
excite  all  but  the  moral  feelings.  When  the  double 
fires  of  dice  and  brandy  blaze  under  a  man,  he  will 
soon  be  consumed.  If  men  are  found  who  do  not 
j I  drink,  they  are  the  more  noticeable  because  excep- 
tions. 

V.  It  is,  even  in  its  fairest  form,  the  almost  inev- 
itable cause  of  dislionesty.  Robbers  have  robbers' 
honor;  thieves  have  thieves'  law;  and  pirates  con- 
form to  pirates'  regulations.  But  where  is  there  a 
gambler's  code  ?  One  law  there  is,  and  this  not 
universal,  pay  your  gambling  debts.  But  on  the 
wide  question,  how  is  it  fair  to  win — what  law  is 
there  ?  What  will  shut  a  man  out  from  a  gambler's 
club  1  May  he  not  discover  his  opponent's  hand  by 
fraud  ?  May  not  a  concealed  thread,  pulling  the 
significant  one  ; — one,  two  ;  or  one,  two,  three  ;  or 
the  sign  of  a  bribed  servant  or  waiter,  inform  him, 
and  yet  his  standing  be  fair  ?  May  he  not  cheat  in 
shuffling,  and  yet  be  in  full  orders  and  canonical? 
May  he  not  cheat  in  dealing,  and  yet  be  a  welcome 


AND    GAMBLING.  155 

gambler? — may  he  not  steal  the  money  from  youi 
pile  by  laying  his  hands  upon  it,  just  as  any  other 
thief  would,  and  yet  be  an  approved  gambler? 
May  not  the  whole  code  be  stated  thus :  Pay 
what  you  lose,  get  what  you  can,  and  in  any  way 
yon  can !  I  am  told,  perhaps,  that  there  are  honest 
gamblers,  gentlemanly  gamblers.  Certainly;  there 
are  always  ripe  apples  before  there  are  rotten.  Men 
always  begin  before  they  end;  there  is  always  an 
approximation  before  there  is  contact.  Players  will 
play  truly  till  they  get  used  to  playing  untruly; 
will  be  honest,  till  they  cheat ;  will  be  honorable, 
till  they  become  base ;  and  when  you  have  said  all 
this,  what  does  it  amount  to  but  this,  that  men  who 
really  gamble,  really  cheat;  and  that  they  only  do 
not  cheat,  who  are  not  yet  real  gamblers?  If  this 
mends  the  matter,  let  it  be  so  amended.  I  have 
spoken  of  gamesters  only  among  themselves ;  this  is 
the  least  part  of  the  evil ;  for  who  is  concerned 
when  lions  destroy  bears,  or  wolves  devour  wolf- 
cubs,  or  snakes  sting  vipers?  In  respect  to  that 
department  of  gambling  which  includes  the  roping-in 
of  strangers,  young  men,  collecting-clerks,  and  un- 
suspecting green-hands,  and  robbing  them,  I  have 
no  language  strong  enough  to  mark  down  its  turpi- 
tude, its  infernal  rapacity.  After  hearing  many  of 
the  scenes  not  unfamiliar  to  every  gambler,  I  think 


156  GAMBLERS 

Satan  might  be  proud  of  their  dealings,  and  look  up 
to  them  with  that  deferential  respect,  with  which 
one  monster  gazes  upon  a  superior.  There  is  not 
even  the  expectation  of  honesty.  Some  scullion- 
herald  of  iniquity  decoys  the  unwary  wretch  into 
the  secret  room ;  he  is  tempted  to  drink ;  made 
confident  by  the  specious  simplicity  of  the  game ; 
allowed  to  win ;  and  every  bait  and  lure,  and  blind 
is  employed — then  he  is  plucked  to  the  skin  by  tricks 
which  appear  as  fair  as  honesty  itself.  The  robber 
avows  his  deed,  does  it  openly ;  the  gambler  sneaks 
to  the  same  result  under  skulking  pretences.  There 
is  a  frank  way,  and  a  mean  way  of  doing  a  wicked 
thing.  The  gambler  takes  the  meanest  way  of 
doing  the  dirtiest  deed.  The  victim's  own  partner 
is  sucking  his  blood;  it  is  a  league  of  sharpers,  to 
get  his  money  at  any  rate ;  and  the  wickedness  is  so 
unblushing  and  unmitigated,  that  it  gives,  at  last,  an 
instance  of  what  the  deceitful  human  heart,  knavish 
as  it  is,  is  ashamed  to  try  to  cover  or  conceal ;  but 
confesses  with  helpless  honesty,  that  it  is  fraud, 
cheating,  stealing,  robbery, — and  nothing  else. 

If  I  walk  the  dark  street,  and  a  perishing,  hungry 
wretch  meets  me  and  bears  off  my  purse  with  but  a 
single  dollar,  the  whole  town  awakes;  the  officers 
are  alert,  the  myrmidons  of  the  law  scout,  and  hunt, 
and  bring   in   the   trembling   culprit   to   stow  him 


AND    GAMBLING.  157 

in  the  jail.  But  a  worse  thief  may  meet  me,  decoy 
my  steps,  and  by  a  greater  dishonesty,  filch  ten 
thousand  dollars, — and  what  then  ?  The  story 
spreads,  the  sharpers  move  abroad  unharmed,  no 
one  stirs.  It  is  the  day's  conversation ;  and  like  a 
sound  it  rolls  to  the  distance,  and  dies  in  an  echo. 

Shall  such  astounding  iniquities  be  vomited  out 
amidst  us,  and  no  man  care  1  Do  we  love  our  chil- 
dren, and  yet  let  them  walk  in  a  den  of  vipers? 
Shall  we  pretend  to  virtue,  and  purity,  and  religion, 
and  yet  make  partners  of  our  social  life,  men  whose 
heart  has  conceived  such  damnable  deeds,  and  whose 
hands  have  performed  them?  Shall  there  be  even 
in  the  eye  of  religion  no  difference  between  the  cor- 
rupter of  youth  and  their  guardian?  Are  all  the 
lines  and  marks  of  morality  so  effaced,  is  the  nerve 
and  courage  of  virtue  so  quailed  by  the  frequency 
and  boldness  of  flagitious  crimes,  that  men,  covered 
over  with  wickedness,  shall  find  their  iniquity  no 
obstacle  to  their  advancement  among  a  Christian 
people  ? 

In  almost  every  form  of  iniquity  there  is  some 
shade  or  trace  of  good.  We  have  in  gambling  a 
crime  standing  alone — dark,  malignant,  uncom- 
pounded  wickedness  !  It  seems  in  its  full  growth  a 
monster  without  a  tender  mercy,  devouring  its  own 
offspring  without  one  feeling  but  appetite.  A  game- 
14 


158  GAMBLERS 

ster,  as  such,  is  the  cool,  calculating,  essential  spirit 
of  concentrated  avaricious  selfishness.  His  intellect 
is  a  living  thing,  quickened  with  double  life  for  vil- 
lany ;  his  heart  is  steel  of  fourfold  temper.  When 
a  man  begins  to  gamble  he  is  as  a  noble  tree  full  of 
sap,  green  with  leaves,  a  shade  to  beasts,  and  a 
covert  to  birds.  When  one  becomes  a  thorough  gam- 
bler, he  is  like  that  tree  lightning-smitten,  rotten  in 
l^JUt  root,  dry  in  branch,  and  sapless ;  seasoned  hard 
and  tough ;  nothing  lives  beneath  it,  nothing  on  its 
branches,  unless  a  hawk  or  a  vulture  perches  for  a 
moment  to  whet  its  beak,  and  fly  screaming  away 
for  its  prey. 

To  every  young  man  who  indulges  in  the  least 
form  of  gambling,  I  raise  a  warning  voice  !  Under 
the  specious  name  of  amusement,  you  are  laying  the 
foundation  of  gambling.  Playing  is  the  seed  which 
comes  up  gambling.  It  is  the  light  wind  which 
brings  up  the  storm.  It  is  the  white  frost  which  pre- 
ludes the  winter.  You  are  mistaken,  however,  in 
supposing  that  it  is  harmless  in  its  earliest  beginnings. 
Its  terrible  blight  belongs,  doubtless,  to  a  later  stage; 
but  its  consumption  of  time,  its  destruction  of  indus- 
try, its  distaste  for  the  calmer  pleasures  of  life,  be- 
long to  the  very  beginning.  You  will  begin  to  play 
with  every  generous  feeling.  Amusement  will  be 
the  plea.     At  the  beginning  the  game  wHJ  excite  en- 


pi^hd 


>~ 


/ 


l^y^ 


AND    GAMBLING.  159 

thusiasm,  pride  of  skill,  the  love  of  mastery,  and  the 
love  of  money.  The  love  of  money,  at  first  almost 
imperceptible,  at  last  will  rule  out  all  the  rest, — like 
Aaron's  rod, — a  serpent,  swallowing  every  other 
serpent.  Generosity,  enthusiasm,  pride  and  skill, 
love  of  mastery,  will  be  absorbed  in  one  mighty  feel- 
ing,— the  savage  lust  of  lucre. 

There  is  a  downward  climax  in  this  sin.  The 
opening  and  ending  are  fatally  connected,  and  drawn 
toward  each  other  with  almost  irresistible  attrac- 
tion. If  gambling  is  a  vbrtex,  playing  is  the 
outer  ring  of  the  Maelstrom.  The  thousand  pound 
stake,  the  whole  estate  put  up  on  a  game — what  are 
these  but  the  instruments  of  kindling  that  tremen- 
dous excitement  which  a  diseased  heart  craves? 
What  is  the  amusement  for  which  you  play  but  the 
excitement  of  the  game  ?  And  for  what  but  this 
does  the  jaded  gambler  play?  You  differ  from  him 
only  in  the  degree  of  the  same  feeling.  Do  not  so- 
lace yourself  that  you  shall  escape  because  others 
have  ;  for  they  stopped,  and  you  go  on.  Are  you  as 
safe  as  they,  when  you  are  in  the  gulf-stream  of 
perdition,  and  they  on  the  shore?  But  have  you 
ever  asked,  Jww  many  have  escaped  ?  Not  one  in  a 
thousand  is  left  unblighted  !  You  have  nine  hun- 
dred and  ninety-nine  chances  against  you,  and  one 
for  you ;  and  will  you  go  on  ?     If  a  disease  should      V£^  $/a 


^t>  i 


160 


GAMBLERS 


stalk  through  the  town,  devouring  whole  families, 
and  sparing  not  one  in  five  hundred,  would  you  lie 
down  under  it  quietly  because  you  had  one  chance 
in  five  hundred  ?  Had  a  scorpion  stung  you,  would 
it  alleviate  your  pangs  to  reflect  that  you  had  only 
one  chance  in  one  hundred  ?     Had  you  swallowed 

^A^/hJU^^  corrosive  poison,  would  it  ease  your  convulsions  to 
think  there  was  only  one  chance  in  fifty  for  you?  I 
do  not  call  every  man  who  plays  a  gambler,  but  a 
gambler  in  embryo.  Let  me  trace  your  course  from 
the  amusement  of  innocent  playing  to  its  almost 
inevitable  end. 

Scene  first.  A  genteel  coffee-house, — whose  hu- 
mane screen  conceals  a  line  of  grenadier  bottles,  and 
hides  respectable  blushes  from  impertinent  eyes. 
There  is  a  quiet  little  room  opening  out  of  the  bar; 
and  here  sit  four  jovial  youths.  The  cards  are  out, 
the  wines  are  in.  The  fourth  is  a  reluctant  hand ; 
he  does  not  love  the  drink,  nor  approve  the  game. 
He  anticipates  and  fears  the  result  of  both.  Why 
m     J/^is  he  here?     He  is  a  whole-souled   fellow,  and  is 

ifZ  tfc~yl**7*  afraid  to  seem  ashamed  of  any  fashionable  gaiety. 
He  will  sip  his  wine  upon  the  importunity  of  a 
friend  newly  come  to  town,  and  is  too  polite  to  spoil 
that  friend's  pleasure  by  refusing  a  part  in  the  game. 
They  sit,  shuffle,  deal;  the  night  wears  on,  the 
clock  telling  no  tale  of  passing  hours — the  prudent 


f*& 


AND    GAMBLING.  161 

liquor-fiend  has  made  it  safely  dumb.  The  night  is 
getting  old  ;  its  dank  air  grows  fresher ;  the  east  is 
grey ;  the  gaming  and  drinking  and  hilarious  laugh- 
ter are  over,  and  the  youths  wending  homeward. 
What  says  conscience?  No  matter  what  it  says; 
they  did  not  hear,  and  we  will  not.  Whatever  was 
said,  it  was  very  shortly  answered  thus:  "  This 
has  not  been  gambling ;  all  were  gentlemen ;  there 
was  no  cheating ;  simply  a  convivial  evening ;  no 
stakes  except  the  bills  incident  to  the  entertainment. 
If  anybody  blames  a  young  man  for  a  little  inno- 
cent exhilaration  on  a  special  occasion,  he  is  a  su- 
perstitious bigot ;  let  him  croak  ! "  Such  a  garnished 
game  is  made  the  text  to  justify  the  whole  round  of 
gambling.     Let  us,  then,  look  at 

Scene  the  second.  In  a  room  so  silent  that  there 
is  no  sound  except  the  shrill  cock  crowing  the  morn- 
ing, where  the  forgotten  candles  burn  dimly  over  the 
long  and  lengthened  wick,  sit  four  men.  Carved 
marble  could  not  be  more  motionless,  save  their 
hands.  Pale,  watchful,  though  weary,  their  eyes 
pierce  the  cards,  or  furtively  read  each  other's  faces. 
Hours  have  passed  over  them  thus.  At  length 
they  rise  without  words ;  some,  with  a  satisfaction 
which  only  makes  their  faces  brightly  haggard, 
scrape  off  the  piles  of  money;  others,  dark,  sullen, 
silent,  fierce,  move  away  from  their  lost  money. 
M* 


162  GAMBLERS 

The  darkest  and  fiercest  of  the  four  is  that  young 
friend  who  first  sat  down  to  make  out  a  game !  He 
will  never  sit  so  innocently  again.  What  says  he  to 
his  conscience  now  ?  I  have  a  right  to  gamble ;  I 
yP-fy*  have  a  right  to  be  damned  too,  if  I  choose ;  whose 
business  is  it?" 

Scene  the  third.  Years  have  passed  on.  He  has 
seen  youth  ruined,  at  first  with  expostulation,  then 
with  only  silent  regret,  then  consenting  to  take  part 
of  the  spoils;  and  finally,  he  has  himself  decoyed, 
duped,  and  stripped  them  without  mercy.  Go  with 
me  into  that  dilapidated  house,  not  far  from  the 
landing,  at  New  Orleans.  Look  into  that  dirty 
room.  Around  a  broken  table,  sitting  upon  boxes, 
kegs,  or  rickety  chairs,  see  a  filthy  crew  dealing 
cards  smouched  with  tobacco,  grease  and  liquor. 
One  has  a  pirate-face  burnished  and  burnt  with 
brandy ;  a  shock  of  grizzly,  matted  hair,  half  cover- 
ing his  villain  eyes,  which  glare  out  like  a  wild 
beast's  from  a  thicket.  Close  by  him  wheezes  a 
white-faced,  dropsical  wretch,  vermin-covered,  and 
stench ful.  A  scoundrel-Spaniard,  and  a  burly  ne- 
gro, (the  jolliest  of  the  four,)  complete  the  group. 
They  have  spectators — drunken  sailors,  and  ogling, 
thieving,  drinking  women,  who  should  have  died 
long  ago,  when  all  that  was  womanly  died.  Here 
hour  draws  on  hour,  sometimes  with  brutal  laugh- 


^ihJ*^. 


AND    GAMBLING.  163 

ter,  sometimes  with  threat,  and  oath,  and  uproar. 
The  last  few  stolen  dollars  lost,  and  temper  too,  each 
charges  each  with  cheating,  and  high  words  ensue, 
and  blows ;  and  the  whole  gang  burst  out  the  door, 
beating,  biting,  scratching,  and  rolling  over  and  over 
in  the  dirt  and  dust.  The  worst,  the  fiercest,  the 
drunkest,  of  the  four,  is  our  friend  who  began  by- 
making  up  the  game  ? 

Scene  the  fourth.  Upon  this  bright  day,  stand 
with  me,  if  you  would  be  sick  of  humanity,  and 
look  over  that  multitude  of  men  kindly  gathered  to 
see  a  murderer  hung  !  At  last,  a  guarded  cart  drags 
on  a  thrice-guarded  wretch.  At  the  gallows'  ladder 
his  courage  fails.  His  coward-feet  refuse  to  ascend ; 
dragged  up,  he  is  supported  by  bustling  officials ;  his 
brain  reels,  his  eye  swims,  while  the  meek  minister 
utters  a  final  prayer  by  his  leaden  ear.  The  prayei  ^/f/^f/^A 
is  said,  the  noose  is  fixed,  the  signal  is  given;  a  shud-  ' 
der  runs  through  the  crowd  as  he  swings  free.  After 
a  moment,  his  convulsed  limbs  stretch  down,  and 
hang  heavily  and  still ;  and  he  who  began  to  gam-  - 

Me  to  make  up  a  game,  and  ended  with  stabbing  an  y*fiwL 
enraged  victim  whom  he  had  fleeced,  has  here  played 
his  last  game, — himself  the  stake  ! 

I  feel  impelled,  in  closing,  to  call  the  attention  of 
all  sober  citizens  to  some  potent  influences  which  are 
exerted  in  favor  of  gambling. 


164  GAMBLERS 

In  our  civil  economy  we  have  Legislators  to  de- 

.    r,    vise  and  enact  wholesome  laws;  Lawyers  to  coimsel 

,  and  aid  those  who  need  the  laws'  relief:  and  Judges 

e     to  determine  and   administer  the  laws.     If  Legis- 

^^  yfcfc.    lators,  Lawyers,    and  Judges   are    gamblers,    with 

^"^^  fa^J-  what  hope  do  we  warn   off  the  young  from   this 

o    4*o,  V        deadly  fascination,   against  such   authoritative  ex- 

.       j  ^*^*  amples  of  high  public   functionaries?     With  what 

-  rC^vutJ  tf    emment  fi^ess  does  that  Judge  press  the  bench,  who 

1^   &^J     in  private  commits  the  vices  which  officially  he  is 

^aA^^^  set  to  condemn !     With  what  singular  terrors  does 

he  frown  on  a  convicted  gambler  with  whom  he 

prayed   last  night,  and  will   play  again   to-night ! 

ilow  wisely   should   the   fine  be  light  which   the 

*** '  ^  s  sprightly  criminal   will   win   and   pay  out  of  the 

Judge's  own  pocket ! 

With  the  name  of  Judge  is  associated  ideas  of  im- 
maculate purity,  sober  piety,  and  fearless,  favorless 
justice.  Let  it  then  be  counted  a  dark  crime  for  a 
recreant  official  so  far  to  forget  his  reverend  place, 
and  noble  office,  as  to  run  the  gantlet  of  filthy 
vices,  and  make  the  word  Judge,  to  suggest  an 
incontinent  trifler,  who  smites  with  his  mouth,  and 
smirks  with  his  eye ;  who  holds  the  rod  to  strike  the 
criminal,  and  smites  only  the  law  to  make  a  gap  for 
criminals  to  pass  through !     If  God  loves  this  land, 


AND   GAMBLING.  165 

may  he  save  it  from  truckling,  drinking,  swearing, 
gambling,  vicious  Judges  !  * 

With  such  Judges  I  must  associate  corrupt  Legis- 
lators, whose  bawling  patriotism  leaks  out  in  all 
the  sinks  of  infamy  at  the  Capital.  These  living 
exemplars  of  vice,  pass  still-born  laws  against  vice. 
Are  such  men  sent  to  the  Capital  only  to  prac- 
tise debauchery  ?  Laborious  seedsmen — they  gather 
every  germ  of  evil ;  and  laborious  sowers — at  home 
they  strew  them  far  and  wide !  It  is  a  burning 
shame,  a  high  outrage,  that  public  men,  by  corrupt- 
ing the  young  with  the  example  of  manifold  vices, 

• 
should  pay  back  their  constituents  for  their  honors ! 

Our  land  has  little  to  fear  from  abroad,  and  much 
from  within.  We  can  bear  foreign  aggression,  scar- 
city, the  revulsions  of  commerce,  plagues,  and  pesti- 
lences ;  but  we  cannot  bear  vicious  Judges,  corrupt 
Courts,  gambling  Legislators,  and  a  vicious,  corrupt, 
and  gambling  constituency.  Let  us  not  be  deceived  ! 
The  decay  of  civil  institutions  begins  at  the  core. 
The  outside  wears  all  the  lovely  hues  of  ripeness, 
when  the  inside  is  rotting.  Decline  does  not  begin 
in  bold  and  startling  acts;  but,  as  in  autumnal 
leaves,  in  rich  and  glowing  colors.     Over  diseased 

*  The  general  eminent  integrity  of  the  Bench  is  unquestionahle — and  no 
remarks  in  the  test  are  to  he  construed  as  an  ohiique  aspersion  of  the  pro- 
fession. But  the  purer  our  Judges  generally,  the  more  shameless  is  it  that 
some  will  not  ahandon  either  their  vices  or  their  office. 


i* 


166  GAMBLERS 

vitals,  consumptive  laws  wear  the  hectic  blush,  a 
brilliant  eye,  and  transparent  skin.  Could  the  public 
sentiment  declare  that  personal  morality  is  the  first 
element  of  patriotism ;  that  corrupt  Legislators  are 
the  most  pernicious  of  criminals;  that  the  Judge 
who  lets  the  villain  off,  is  the  villain's  patron ;  that 
tolerance  of  crime  is  intolerance  of  virtue, — our 
nation  might  defy  all  enemies  and  live  forever ! 

And  now,  my  young  friends,  I  beseech  you  to  let 
/^  ex  alone  this  evil  before  it  be  meddled  with.  You  are 
safe  from  vice  when  you  avoid  even  its  appearance ; 
^  and  only  then.  The  first  steps  to  wickedness  are 
imperceptible.  We  do  not  wonder  at  the  inexpe- 
rience of  Adam ;  but  it  is  wonderful  that  six  thou- 
sand years'  repetition  of  the  same  arts,  and  the  same 
uniform  disaster,  should  have  taught  men  nothing ! 
t  „  that  generation  after  generation  should  perish,  and 
the  wreck  be  no  warning ! 

The  mariner  searches  his  chart  for  hidden  rocks, 
stands  off  from  perilous  shoals,  and  steers  wide  of 
reefs  on  which  hang  shattered  morsels  of  wrecked 
ships,  and  runs  in  upon  dangerous  shores  with  the 
ship  manned,  the  wheel  in  hand,  and  the  lead  con- 
^  stantly  sounding.     But  the  mariner  upon  life's  sea, 

carries  no  chart  of  other  men's  voyages,  drives  be- 
fore every  wind  that  will  speed  him,  draws  upon 
horrid   shores  with   slumbering  crew,   or  heads  in 


frf 


KaJjl 


AND    GAMBLING.  167 

upon  roaring  reefs  as  though  he  would  not  perish 
where  thousands  have  perished  before  him. 

Hell  is  populated  with  the  victims  of  "  harmless  <C, 
amusements"  Will  man  never  learn  that  the  way 
to  hell  is  through  the  valley  of  deceit  ?  The  power 
of  Satan  to  hold  his  victims  is  nothing  to  that  mas- 
tery of  art  by  which  he  first  gains  them.  When  he 
approaches  to  charm  us,  it  is  not  as  a  grim  fiend, 
gleaming  from  a  lurid  cloud,  but  as  an  angel  of  light 
radiant  with  innocence.  His  words  fall  like  dew 
upon  the  flower;  as  musical  as  the  crystal-drop 
warbling  from  a  fountain.  Beguiled  by  his  art,  he 
leads  you  to  the  enchanted  ground.  Oh !  how  "it 
glows  with  every  refulgent  hue  of  heaven !  Afar  / 
off  he  marks  the  dismal  gulf  of  vice  and  crime ;  its 
smoke  of  torment  slowly  rising,  and  rising  forever ! 
and  he  himself  cunningly  warns  you  of  its  dread 
disaster,  for  the  very  purpose  of  blinding  and  draw- 
ing you  thither.  He  leads  you  to  captivity  through 
all  the  bowers  of  lulling  magic.  He  plants  your 
foot  on  odorous  flowers;  he  fans  your  cheek  with  ^  f^«  r1 
balmy  breath ;  he  overhangs  your  head  with  rosy 
clouds ;  he  fills  your  ear  with  distant,  drowsy  music, 
charming  every  sense  to  rest.  Oh  ye !  who  have 
thought  the  way  to  hell  was  bleak  and  frozen  as  <^s^y^^ 
Norway,  parched  and  barren  as  Sahara,  strewed 
like  Golgotha  with  bones  and  skulls,  reeking  with 


AucX 


168  GAMBLERS 

stench  like  the  vale  of  Gehenna, — witness  your 
mistake !  The  way  to  hell  is  gorgeous  !  It  is  a 
highway,  cast  up ;  no  lion  is  there,  no  ominous  bird 
to  hoot  a  warning,  no  echoings  of  the  wailing-pit, 
no  lurid  gleams  of  distant  fires,  or  moaning  sounds 
of  hidden  woe !  Paradise  is  imitated  to  build  you 
a  way  to  death ;  the  flowers  of  heaven  are  stolen 
and  poisoned ;  the  sweet  plant  of  knowledge  is  here ; 
the  pure  white  flower  of  religion ;  seeming  virtue 
and  the  charming  tints  of  innocence  are  scattered  all 
along  like  native  herbage.  The  enchanted  victim 
travels  on.  Standing  afar  behind,  and  from  a  silver- 
trumpet,  a  heavenly  messenger  sends  down  the  wind 
a  solemn  warning :    There  is  a  way  which  seemeth 

RIGHT   TO   MAN,  BUT   THE    END    THEREOF  IS   DEATH.       And 

again,  with   louder   blast:     The    wise    man    fore- 

SEETH     THE   EVIL  ;     FOOLS     PASS    ON    AND     ARE     PUNISHED. 

Startled  for  a  moment,  the  victim  pauses ;  gazes 
round  upon  the  flowery  scene,  and  whispers,  Is  it  not 
harmless? — "Harmless"  responds  a  serpent  from 
the  grass  ! — "Harmless"  echo  the  sighing  winds  ! — 
Harmless"  re-echo  a  hundred  airy  tongues !  If 
now  a  gale  from  heaven  might  only  sweep  the 
clouds  away  through  which  the  victim  gazes;  oh! 
if  God  would  break  that  potent  power  which  chains 
the  blasts  of  hell,  and  let  the  sulphur-stench  roll  up 
the  vale,  how  would  the  vision  change ! — the  road 


AND    GAMBLING.  169 

become  a  track  of  dead  men's  bones ! — the  heavens 
a  lowering  storm  ! — the  balmy  breezes,  distant  wail- 
ings — and  all  those  balsam-shrubs  that  lied  to  his 
senses,  sweat  drops  of  blood  upon  their  poison- 
boughs  ! 

Ye  who  are  meddling  with  the  edges  of  vice,  ye 
are  on  this  road  ! — and  utterly  duped  by  its  enchant- 
ments !  Your  eye  has  already  lost  its  honest  glance, 
your  taste  has  lost  its  purity,  your  heart  throbs  with 
poison  !  The  leprosy  is  all  over  you,  its  blotches 
and  eruptions  cover  you.  Your  feet  stand  on  slip- 
pery places,  whence  in  due  time  they  shall  slide,  if 
you  refuse  the  warning  which  I  raise.  They  shall 
slide  from  heaven,  never  to  be  visited  by  a  gambler ;  * 
slide  down  to  that  fiery  abyss  below  you,  out  of  l*^fi> 
which  none  ever  come.  Then,  when  the  last  card  is 
cast,  and  the  game  over,  and  you  lost ;  then,  when 
the  echo  of  your  fall  shall  ring  through  hell, — in 
malignant  triumph,  shall  the  Arch-Gambler,  who 
cunningly  played  for  your  soul,  have  his  prey  !  Too 
late  you  shall  look  back  upon  life  as  a  mighty  game, 
in  which  you  were  the  stake,  and  Satan  the  winner  !  £  ^li 

r'A  •  15 


/*>;- 


LECTURE  VI 


All  scripture  is  given  by  inspiration  of  God,  and  is  profitable  for  doctrine, 
for  reproof,  for  correction,  for  instruction  in  righteousness :  that  the  man 
of  God  may  be  perfect,  thoroughly  furnished  unto  all  good  works.  2 
Tim.  iii.  16,  17. 

Surely  one  cannot  declare  the  whole  counsel  of 
God,  and  leave  out  a  subject  which  is  interwoven 
with  almost  every  chapter  of  the  Bible.  So  invet- 
erate is  the  prejudice  against  introducing  into  the 
pulpit  the  subject  of  Licentiousness,  that  Ministers 
of  the  Gospel,  knowing  the  vice  to  be  singularly 
dangerous  and  frequent,  have  yet  by  silence  almost 
complete,  or  broken  only  by  circuitous  allusions, 
manifested  their  submission  to  the  popular  taste.* 
That  Vice  upon  which  it  has  pleased  God  to  be 
more  explicit  and  full  than  upon  any  other ;  against 
which  he  uttered  his  voice  upon  Sinai,  Thou  shall 

*  The  liberality  with  which  this  Lecture  was  condemned  before  I  had 
written  it,  and  the  prompt  criticisms  afterwards,  of  those  who  did  not     ^ 
hear  it,  have  induced  me  to  print  it  almost  unaltered.    Otherwise  I  should 
have  changed  many  portions  of  it  from  forms  of  expression  peculiar  to  the 
pulpit  into  those  better  suited  to  a  book. 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  171 

not  commit  adultery ;    upon   which    the   lawgiver, 
Moses,  legislated  with  boldness ;  which  Judges  con- 
demned ;  upon  which  the  venerable  Prophets  spake 
oft  and  again ;   against  which  Christ  with  singular 
directness  and  plainness  uttered  the  purity  of  reli- 
gion ;  and  upon  which  He  inspired  Paul  to  discourse     r        i 
to  the  Corinthians,  and  to  almost  every  primitive 
church;  this  subject,  upon  which  the  Bible  does  not     .     ^ 
so  much  speak,  as  thunder — not  by  a  single  bolt,    tiT^** 
but  peal  after  peal — we  are  solemnly  warned  not  to 
introduce  into  the  pulpit!         rfrtb  ^S&?^J^-'U     ^^<^^ 


I  am  entirely  aware  of  the  delicacy  of  introducing 
this  subject  into  the  pulpit.  /        -  >t      €,    **£ZZ*JfL^ 

One  difficulty  arises  from  the  sensitiveness  of  un- 
affected purity.  A  mind,  retaining  all  the  dew  and 
freshness  of  innocence,  shrinks  from  the  very  idea 
of  impurity,  as  if  it  were  sin  to  have  thought  or 
heard  of  it, — as  if  even  the  shadow  of  the  evil  would 
leave  some  soil  upon  the  unsullied  whiteness  of  the 
virgin-mind.  Shall  we  be  angry  with  this  ?  or  shall 
we  rudely  rebuke  so  amiable  a  feeling,  because  it 
regrets  a  necessary  duty  ?  God  forbid  !  If  there 
be,  in  the  world,  that  whose  generous  faults  should 
be  rebuked  only  by  the  tenderness  of  a  reproving 
smile,  it  is  the  mistake  of  inexperienced  purity. 
We  would  as  soon  pelt  an  angel,  bewildered  among 
men  and  half  smothered  with  earth's  noxious  va- 


172  THE    STRANGE   WOMAN. 

pors,  for  his  trembling  apprehensions.  To  any  such, 
who  have  half  wished  that  I  might  not  speak,  I 
say: — Nor  would  I,  did  I  not  know  that  purity  will 
suffer  more  by  the  silence  of  shame,  than  by  the 
honest  voice  of  truth. 

Another  difficulty  springs  from  the  nature  of  the 
English  language,  which  has  hardly  been  framed 
in  a  school  where  it  may  wind  and  fit  itself  to  all 
Nthe  phases  of  impurity.  But  were  I  speaking  French 
— the  dialect  of  refined  sensualism  and  of  licentious 
literature.;  the  language  of  a  land  where  taste  and 
learning  and  art  wait  upon  the  altars  of  impurity — 
then  I  might  copiously  speak  of  this  evil,  nor  use 
one  plain  word.  But  I  thank  God,  the  honest  Eng- 
lish tongue  which  I  have  learned,  has  never  been  so 
bred  to  this  vile  subservience  of  evil.  We  have 
plain  words  enough  to  say  plain  things,  but  the  dig- 
nity and  manliness  of  our  language  has  never  grown 
supple  to  twine  around  brilliant  dissipation.  It  has 
too  many  plain  words,  vulgar  words,  vile  words ; 
but  it  has  few  mirror-words,  which  cast  a  sidelong 
image  of  an  idea ;  it  has  few  words  which  wear  a 
meaning  smile,  a  courtesan-glance  significant  of 
something  unexpressed.  When  public  vice  necessi- 
tates public  reprehension,  it  is,  for  these  reasons, 
diffiult  to  redeem  plainness  from  vulgarity.  We 
must  speak  plainly  and  properly;  or  else  speak  by 
innuendo — which  is  the  devil's  language. 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  173 

Another  difficulty  lies  in  the  confused  echoes 
which  vile  men  create  in  every  community,  when 
the  pulpit  disturbs  them.  Do  I  not  know  the  arts 
of  cunning  men?  Did  not  Demetrius,  the  Silver- 
smith (worthy  to  have  lived  in  our  day !)  become 
most  wonderfully  pious,  and  run  all  over  the  city  to 
rouse  up  the  dormant  zeal  of  Diana's  worshippers, 
and  gather  a  mob,  to  whom  he  preached  that  Diana 
must  be  cared  for  ;  when,  to  his  fellow-craftsmen,  he 
told  the  truth  :  our  craft  is  in  danger  !  Men  will 
not  quietly  be  exposed.  They  foresee  the  rising 
of  a  virtuously  retributive  public  sentiment,  as  the 
mariner  sees  the  cloud  of  the  storm  rolling  up  the 
heavens !  They  strive  to  forestall  and  resist  it. 
How  loudly  will  a  liquor-fiend  protest  against  tem- 
perance lectures — sinful  enough  for  redeeming  vic- 
tims from  his  paw  !  How  sensitive  some  men  to  a 
church  bell !  they  are  high  priests  of  revivals  at  a 
horse-race,  a  theatre,  or  a  liquor-supper ;  but  a  reli- 
gious revival  pains  their  sober  minds.  Even  thus, 
the  town  will  be  made  vocal  with  outcries  against 
sermons  on  licentiousness.  Who  cries  out? — the 
sober? — the  immaculate? — the  devout?  It  is  the 
voice  of  the  son  of  midnight ;  it  is  the  shriek  of  the 
strange  woman's  victim !  and  their  sensitiveness  is 
not  of  purity,  but  of  fear  !  Men  protest  against  the 
indecency  of  the  pulpit,  because  the  pulpit  makes 
15* 


174  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

them  feel  their  own  indecency;  they  would  drive  us 
from  the  investigation  of  vice,  that  they  may  keep 
the  field  open  for  their  own  occupancy.  I  expect 
such  men's  reproaches.  I  know  the  reasons  of  them. 
I  am  not  to  be  turned  by  them,  not  one  hairs 
breadth,  if  they  rise  to  double  their  present  volume, 
until  I  have  hunted  home  the  wolf  to  his  lair,  and 
ripped  off  his  brindled  hide  in  his  very  den ! 

Another  difficulty  exists,  in  the  criminal  fastidi- 
ousness of  the  community  upon  this  subject.  This 
is  the  counterfeit  of  delicacy.  It  resembles  it  less 
than  paste-jewels  do  the  pure  pearl.  Where  deli- 
cacy, the  atmosphere  of  a  pure  heart,  is  lost,  or 
never  was  had,  a  substitute  is  sought ;  and  is 
found  in  forms  of  delicacy,  not  in  its  feelings.  It 
is  a  delicacy  of  exterior,  of  etiquette,  of  show,  of 
rules ;  not  of  thought,  not  of  pure  imagination,  not 
of  the  crystal-current  of  the  heart !  Criminal  fas- 
tidiousness is  the  Pharisee's  sepulchre;  clean,  white, 
beautiful  without,  full  of  dead  men's  bones  within ! 
— the  Pharisee's  platter,  the  Pharisee's  cup — it  is  the 
very  Pharisee  himself;  and  like  him  of  old,  lays  on 
burdens  grievous  to  be  borne.  Delicacy  is  a  spring 
which  God  has  sunken  in  the  rock,  which  the  win- 
ter never  freezes,  the  summer  never  heats;  which 
sends  its  quiet  waters  with  music  down  the  flowery 
hill-side,  and  which  is  pure  and  transparent,  because 


5^^^-^ 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  175 

it  has  at  the  bottom  no  sediment.  I  would  that 
every  one  of  us  had  this  well  of  life,  gushing  from 
our  hearts — an  everlasting  and  full  stream  ! 

False  modesty  always  judges  by  the  outside;  it 
cares  how  you  speak,  more  than  what.  That  which 
would  outrage  in  plain  words,  may  be  implied  fur- 
tively, in  the  sallies  of  wit  or  fancy,  and  be  admis- 
sible. Every  day  I  see  this  giggling  modesty,  which 
blushes  at  language  more  than  at  its  meaning; 
which  smiles  upon  base  things,  if  they  will  appear 
in  the  garb  of  virtue  !  That  disease  of  mind  to 
which  I  have  frequently  alluded  in  these  lectures, 
which  leads  it  to  clothe  vice  beautifully  and  then 
admit  it,  has  had  a  fatal  effect  also  upon  Literature; 
giving  currency  to  filth,  by  coining  it  in  the  mint  of 
beauty.  It  is  under  the  influence  of  this  disease  of 
taste  and  heart,  that  we  hear  expressed  such  strange 
judgments  upon  English  authors.  Those  who  speak 
plainly  what  they  mean,  when  they  speak  at  all, 
are  called  rude  and  vulgar;  while  those  upon  whose 
exquisite  sentences  the  dew  of  indelicacy  rests  like 
so  many  brilliant  pearls  of  the  morning  upon  flow- 
ers, are  called  our  moral  authors  ! 

The  most  dangerous  writers  in  the  English  lan- 
guage are  those  whose  artful  insinuations  and  mis-    ' A  - 
chievous  polish  reflect  upon  the  mind  the  image  of 
impurity,  without  presenting  the  impurity  itself.    A 


176  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

plain  vulgarity  in  a  writer  is  its  own  antidote.  It 
is  like  a  foe  who  attacks  us  openly,  and  give  us  op- 
portunity of  defence.  But  impurity,  secreted  under 
beauty,  is  like  a  treacherous  friend  who  strolls  with 
us  in  a  garden  of  sweets,  and  destroys  us  by  the 
odor  of  poisonous  flowers  proffered  to  our  senses. 
Let  the  reprehensible  grossness  of  Chaucer  be  com- 
pared with  the  perfumed,  elaborate  brilliancy  of 
Moore's  license.  I  would  not  willingly  answer  at 
the  bar  of  God  for  the  writings  of  either ;  but  of  the 
two,  I  would  rather  bear  the  sin  of  Chaucer's  plain- 
spoken  words,  which  never  suggest  more  than  they 
say,  than  the  sin  of  Moore's  language,  over  which 
plays  a  witching  hue  and  shade  of  licentiousness.  I 
would  rather  put  the  downright,  and  often  abomina- 
ble vulgarity  of  Swift  into  my  child's  hand,  than 
the  scoundrel-indirections  of  Sterne.  They  are  both 
impure  writers  ;  but  not  equally  harmful.  The  one 
I  says  what  he  means  ;  the  other  means  what  he  dare 
not  say.  Swift  is,  in  this  respect,  Belial  in  his  own 
form;  Sterne  is  Satan  in  the  form  of  an  angel  of 
light :  and  many  will  receive  the  temptation  of  the 
Angel,  who  would  scorn  the  proffer  of  the  Demon. 
What  an  incredible  state  of  morals,  in  the  English 
church,  that  permitted  two  of  her  eminent  clergy  to 
be  the  most  licentious  writers  of  the  age,  and  as  im- 
pure as  almost  any  of  the  English  literature !    Even 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  177 

our  most  classic  authors  have  chosen  to  elaborate, 
with  exquisite  art,  scenes  which  cannot  but  have 
more  effect  upon  the  passions  than  upon  the  taste. 
Embosomed  in  the  midst  of  Thomson's  glowing 
Seasons,  one  finds  descriptions  unsurpassed  by  any  i^^J  < 
part  of  Don  Juan ;  and  as  much  more  dangerous 
than  it  is,  as  a  courtesan,  countenanced  by  virtuous 
society,  is  more  dangerous  than  when  among  her 
own  associates.  Indeed,  an  author  who  surprises 
you  with  refined  indelicacies  in  moral  and  reputable 
writings,  is  worse  than  one,  who,  without  disguise, 
and  on  purpose,  serves  up  a  whole  banquet  of  indel- 
icacies. Many  will  admit  poison-morsels  well  su- 
gared, who  would  revolt  from  an  infernal  feast  of 
impurity.  There  is  little  danger  that  robbers  will 
tempt  the  honest  young  to  robbery.  Some  one  first 
tempts  him  to  falsehood ;  next,  to  petty  dishones- 
ties ;  next,  to  pilfering ;  then,  to  thieving ;  and  now, 
only,  will  the  robber  influence  him,  when  others 
have  handed  him  down  to  his  region  of  crime. 
Those  authors  who  soften  evil,  and  show  deformity 
with  tints  of  beauty  ;  who  arm  their  general  purity 
with  the  occasional  sting  of  impurity; — these  are 
they  who  take  the  feet  out  of  the  straight  path — the 
guiltiest  path  of  seduction.  He  who  feeds  an  in- 
flamed appetite  with  food  spiced  to  fire,  is  less  guilty 
than  he  who   hid  in  the  mind   the   leaven  which 


178  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

wrought  this  appetite.  The  polished  seducer  is  cer- 
tainly more  dangerous  than  the  vulgar  debauchee — 
both  in  life  and  in  literature. 

In  this  contrast  are  to  be  placed  Shakespeare  and 
Bulwer:  Shakespeare  is  sometimes  gross,  but  not 
often  covertly  impure.     Bulwer  is  slily  impure,  but 
not  often  gross.     I  am  speaking,  however,  only  of 
-  Shakespeare's  Plays,  and  not  of  his  youthful  fugi- 

tive pieces;  which,  I  am  afraid,  cannot  have  part  in 
this  exception.  He  began  wrong,  but  grew  better. 
At  first,  he  wrote  by  the  taste  of  his  age ;  but  when 
a  man,  he  wrote  to  his  own  taste :  and  though  he  is 
not  without  sin,  yet,  compared  with  his  contempo- 
raries, he  is  not  more  illustrious  for  his  genius  than 
for  his  purity.  Reprehension,  to  be  effective,  should 
A*^f Y  De  Just-  N°  man  is  prepared  to  excuse  properly  the 
occasional  blemishes  of  this  wonderful  writer,  who 
>*^  ^  l<j  has  not  been  shocked  at  the  immeasurable  licen- 
tiousness of  the  Dramatists  of  his  cycle.  One  play 
of  Ford,  one  act,  one  conversation,  has  more  abomi- 
nations than  the  whole  world  of  Shakespeare.  rLet 
those  women,  who  ignorantly  sneer  at  Shakespeare, 
remember  that  they  are  indebted  to  him  for  the  no- 
blest conceptions  of  woman's  character  in  our  litera- 
ture— the  more  praiseworthy,  because  he  found  no 
models  in  current  authors.  The  occasional  touches 
of  truth  and  womanly  delicacy  in  the  early  Drama 


THE  STRANGE    WOMAN.  179 

tists  are  no  compensation  for  the  wholesale  coarse- 
ness and  vulgarity  of  their  female  characters.     In 
Shakespeare,  woman   appears   in   her  true  form — 
pure,  disinterested,  ardent,  devoted ;  capable  of  the 
noblest  feelings  and  of  the  highest  deeds.;    The  lan- 
guage of  many  of  Shakespeare's  women  would  be 
shocking  in  our  day ;  but  so  would  be  the  domestic 
manners  of  that  age.     The  same  actions  may  in  one 
age  be  a  sign  of  corruption,  and  be  perfectly  inno- 
cent in  another.     No  one  is  shocked  that  in  a  pio- 
neer-cabin, one  room  serves  for  a  parlor,  a  kitchen, 
and  a  bed-room,  for  the  whole  family,  and  for  pro- 
miscuous  guests.     Should   fastidiousness   revolt  at 
this,  as  vulgar, — the  vulgarity  must  be  accredited   Mc>c*< 
to  the  fastidiousness,  and  not  to  the  custom.     Yet, 
it  would  be  inexcusable  in  a  refined  metropolis,  and 
everywhere  the  moment  it  ceases  to  be  necessary. 
But  nothing  in  these  remarks  must  apologize  for  lan- 
guage or  deed,  which  indicates  an  impure  heart.    No  /^  C 
age,  no  custom,  may  plead  extenuation  for  essential    ^^y^^ 
lust;  and  no  sound  mind  can  refrain  from  commen-  *    j^tu*   < 
dation  of  the  master-dramatist  of  the  world,  when     ": 
he  learns  that  in  writing  for  a  most  licentious  age,      )  o 
he  rose  above  it  so  far  as  to  become  something  like 
a  model  to  it  of  a  more  virtuous  way.     Shakespeare 
left  the  dramatical   literature   immeasurably  purer 
than  it  came  to  him. 


'7?^f 


nJrc 


180  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

Bulwer  has  made  the  English  novel-literature 
more  vile  than  he  found  it.  The  one  was  a  reform- 
er, the  other  an  implacable  corrupter.  We  respect 
and  admire  the  one,  (while  we  mark  his  faults,)  be- 
cause he  withstood  his  age;  and  we  despise  with 
utter  loathing  the  other,  whose  specific  gravity  of 
wickedness  sunk  him  below  the  level  of  his  own 
age.  With  a  moderate  caution,  Shakespeare  may 
be  safely  put  into  the  hands  of  the  young.  I  regard 
^.^  the  admission  of  Bulwer  as  a  crime  against  the  first 

principles  of  virtue. 

In  all  the  cases  which  I  have  considered,  you  will 
remark  a  greater  indulgence  to  that  impurity  which 
breaks  out  on  the  surface,  than  to  that  which  lurks 
in  the  blood  and  destroys  the  constitution.  It  is  the 
curse  of  our  literature  that  it  is  traversed  by  so 
many  rills  of  impurity.  It  is  a  vast  champaign,, 
waving  with  unexampled  luxuriance  of  flower,  and 
vine,  and  fruit;  but  the  poisonous  flower  every- 
where mingles  with  the  pure ;  and  the  deadly  clus- 
ter lays  its  cheek  on  the  wholesome  grape;  nay,  in 
the  same  cluster  grow  both  the  harmless  and  the 
hurtful  berry;  so  that  the  hand  can  hardly  be 
stretched  out  to  gather  flower  or  fruit  without  com- 
ing back  poisoned.  It  is  both  a  shame  and  an  amaz- 
ing wonder,  that  the  literature  of  a  Christian  nation 
should   reek   with   a   filth  which   Pagan   antiquity 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  18) 

could  scarcely  endure ;  that  the  Ministers  of  Christ 
should  have  left  floating  in  the  pool  of  offensive  writ- 
ings, much  that  would  have  brought  blood  to  the 
cheek  of  a  Roman  priest,  and  have  shamed  an  actor 
of  the  school  of  Aristophanes.  Literature  is,  in  turn, 
both  the  cause  and  effect  of  the  spirit  of  the  age. 
Its  effect  upon  this  age  has  been  to  create  a  lively 
relish  for  exquisitely  artful  licentiousness,  and  dis- 
gust only  for  vulgarity.  A  witty,  brilliant,  sugges- 
tive indecency  is  tolerated  for  the  sake  of  its  genius. 
An  age  which  translates  and  floods  the  community 
with  French  novels,  (inspired  by  Venus  and  Bac- 
chus,) which  reprints  in  popular  forms,  Byron,  and 
Bulwer,  and  Moore,  and  Fielding,  proposes  to  revise 
Shakespeare  and  expurgate  the  Bible !  !  Men  who, 
at  home,  allow  Don  Juan  to  lie  within  reach  of 
every  reader,  will  not  allow  a  Minister  of  the  gospel 
to  expose  the  evil  of  such  a  literature !  To  read 
authors  whose  lines  drop  with  the  very  gall  of  death ; 
to  vault  in  elegant  dress  as  near  the  edge  of  inde- 
cency as  is  possible  without  treading  over;  to  ex- 
press the  utmost  possible  impurity  so  dexterously, 
that  not  a  vulgar  word  is  used,  but  rosy,  glowing, 
suggestive  language — this,  with  many,  is  refine- 
ment. But  to  expose  the  prevalent  vice;  to  meet 
its  glittering  literature  with  the  plain  and  manly 
language  of  truth;  to  say  nothing  except  what 
1G 


182  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

one  desires  to  say  plainly — this,  it  seems,  is  vul- 
garity ! 

One  of  the  first  steps  in  any  reformation  must  be, 
not  alone  nor  first  the  correction  of  the  grossness, 
but  of  the  elegancies  of  impurity.  Could  our  liter- 
ature, and  men's  conversation,  be  put  under  such 
authority  that  neither  should  express,  by  insinua- 
tion, what  dared  not  be  said  openly,  in  a  little  time, 
men  would  not  dare  to  s-ay  at  all  what  it  would  be 
indecent  to  speak  plainly. 

If  there  be  here  any  disciples  of  Bulwer  ready  to 
disport  in  the  very  ocean  of  license,  if  its  waters 
only  seem  translucent;  who  can  read  and  relish  all 
that  fires  the  heart,  and  are  only  then  distressed  and 
shocked  when  a  serious  man  raises  the  rod  to  cor- 
rect and  repress  the  evil ;  if  there  be  here  any  who 
can  drain  his  goblet  of  mingled  wine,  and  only  shud- 
der at  crystal- water;  any  who  can  see  this  modern 
prophet  of  villany  strike  the  rock  of  corruption,  to 
water  his  motley  herd  of  revellers,  but  hate  him 
who  out  of  the  Rock  of  Truth  should  bid  gush  the 
healthful  stream ; — I  beseech  them  to  bow  their  heads 
in  this  Christian  assembly,  and  weep  their  tears  of 
regret  in  secret  places,  until  the  evening  service  be 
done,  and  Bulwer  can  staunch  their  tears,  and  com- 
fort again  their  wounded  hearts. 

Whenever  an  injunction  is  laid  upon  plain  and 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  183 

undeniable  scripture-truth,  and  I  am  forbidden,  upon 
pain  of  your  displeasure,  to  preach  it ;  then,  I  should 
not  so  much  regard  my  personal  feelings,  as  the 
affront  which  you  put  upon  my  master ;  and  in  my 
inmost  soul  I  shall  resent  that  affront.  There  is  no 
esteem,  there  is  no  love,  like  that  which  is  founded 
in  the  sanctity  of  religion.  Between  many  of  you 
and  me,  that  sanctity  exists.  I  stood  by  your  side 
when  you  awoke  in  the  dark  valley  of  conviction, 
and  owned  yourselves  lost.  I  have  led  you  by  the 
hand  out  of  the  darkness;  by  your  side  I  have 
prayed,  and  my  tears  have  mingled  with  yours.  I 
have  bathed  you  in  the  crystal-waters  of  a  holy 
baptism ;  and  when  you  sang  the  song  of  the  ran- 
somed captive,  it  filled  my  heart  with  a  joy  as  great 
as  that  which  uttered  it.  Love,  beginning  in  such 
scenes,  and  drawn  from  so  sacred  a  fountain,  is  not 
commercial,  not  fluctuating.  Amid  severe  toils  and 
not  a  few  anxieties,  it  is  the  crown  of  rejoicing  to  a 
Pastor.  What  have  we  in  this  world  but  you  ?  To 
be  your  servant  in  the  gospel,  we  renounce  all  those 
paths  by  which  other  men  seek  preferment.  Silver  Jnjy  ^  fA 
and  gold  is  not  in  our  houses,  and  our  names  are  C°*A*~&r 
not  heard  where  fame  proclaims  others.  Rest  we  *  if 
are  forbidden  until  death ;  and  girded  with  the  li  %*!&- 
whole  armor,  our  lives  are  spent  in  the  dust  and 
smoke  of  continued  battle.     But  even  such  love  will 


'Ot+i 


184  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

not  tolerate  bondage.     We  can  be  servants  to  love, 
but  never  slaves  to  caprice ;  still  less  can  we  heed 


the  mandates  of  iniquity !   A^w   ^^    ^<  *^    */'--** 


The  proverbs  of  Solomon  are  designed  to  furnish 
us  a  series  of  maxims  for  every  relation  of  life. 
There  will  naturally  be  the  most  said  where  there 
is  the  most  needed.  If  the  frequency  of  warning 
against  any  sin  measures  the  liability  of  man  to  that 
sin,  then  none  is  worse  than  Impurity.  In  many 
separate  passages  is  the  solemn  warning  against 
the  strange  woman  given  with  a  force  which  must 
terrify  all  but  the  innocent  or  incorrigible ;  and  with 
a  delicacy  which  all  will  feel  but  those  whose  mod- 
esty is  the  fluttering  of  an  impure  imagination.  I 
shall  take  such  parts  of  all  these  passages  as  will 
make  out  a  connected  narrative. 

When  wisdom  entereth  into  thy  heart,  and  knowl- 
edge is  pleasant  unto  thy  soul,  discretion  shall  preserve 
thee  .  .  .  to  deliver  thee  from  the  strange  ivoman, 
which  flattereth  with  her  tongue  ;  her  lips  drop  as  a 
honey-comb,  her  mouth  is  smoother  than  oil.  She 
sitleth  at  the  door  of  her  house  on  a  seat  in  the  high 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  185 

places  of  the  city,  to  call  to  passengers  who  go  right 
on  their  ways:  u Whoso  is  simple  let  him  turn  in 
hither"  To  him  that  wanteth  understanding,  she 
saith,  "  Stolen  waters  are  sweet  and  bread  eaten  in 
secret  is  pleasant;"  but  he  knoweth  not  that  the  dead 
are  there.  Lust  not  after  her  beauty,  neither  let  her 
take  thee  with  her  eyelids.  She  forsaketh  the  guide 
of  her  youth,  and  forgetteth  the  covenant  of  her  God. 
Lest  thou  shouldst  ponder  the  path  of  life,  her  ways 
are  movable,  that  thou  canst  not  know  them.  Remove 
thy  way  far  from  her,  and  come  not  nigh  the  door 
of  her  house,  for  her  house  inclineth  unto  death.  She 
has  cast  down  many  wounded;  yea,  many  strong 
men  have  been  slain  by  her.  Her  house  is  the  way 
to  hell,  going  down  to  the  chamber  of  death ;  none 
that  go  unto  her,  return  again;  neither  take  they 
hold  of  the  paths  of  life.  Let  not  thy  heart  decline 
to  her  ways,  lest  thou  mourn  at  last,  when  thy  flesh 
and  thy  body  are  consumed,  and  say  :  uHow  have  I 
hated  instruction,  and  my  heart  despised  reproof.  I 
was  in  all  evil  in  the  midst  of  the  congregation  and 
assembly." 

I.  Can  language  be  found  which  can  draw  a  cor- 
rupt beauty  so  vividly  as  this ;  Which  forsaketh  the 
guide  of  her  youth,  and  forgetteth  the  covenant  of 
her  God.  Look  out  upon  that  fallen  creature  whose 
gay  sally  through  the  street  calls  out  the  significant 
16* 


186  THE    STRANGE   WOMAN. 

laugh  of  bad  men,  the  pity  of  good  men,  and  the 
horror  of  the  pure.  Was  not  her  cradle  as  pure 
as  ever  a  loved  infant  pressed?  Love  soothed  its 
cries.  Sisters  watched  its  peaceful  sleep,  and  a 
mother  pressed  it  fondly  to  her  bosom !  Had  you 
afterwards,  when  spring-flowers  covered  the  earth, 
and  every  gale  was  odor,  and  every  sound  was 
music,  seen  her,  fairer  than  the  lily  or  the  violet, 
searching  them,  would  you  not  have  said,  "  Sooner 
shall  the  rose  grow  poisonous  than  she ;  both  may 
wither,  but  neither  corrupt."  And  how  often,  at 
evening,  did  she  clasp  her  tiny  hands  in  prayer? 
How  often  did  she  put  the  wonder-raising  questions 
to  her  mother,  of  God,  and  heaven,  and  the  dead — 
as  if  she  had  seen  heavenly  things  in  a  vision ! 
As  young  womanhood  advanced,  and  these  fore- 
shadowed graces  ripened  to  the  bud  and  burst  into 
bloom,  health  glowed  in  her  cheek,  love  looked  from 
her  eye,  and  purity  was  an  atmosphere  around  her. 
Alas !  she  forsook  the  guide  of  her  youth.  Faint 
thoughts  of  evil,  like  a  far-off  cloud  which  the  sun- 
set gilds,  came  first;  nor  does  the  rosy  sunset  blush 
deeper  along  the  heaven,  than  her  cheek,  at  the 
first  thought  of  evil.  Now,  ah !  mother,  and  thou 
guiding  elder  sister,  could  you  have  seen  the  lurking 
spirit  embosomed  in  that  cloud,  a  holy  prayer  might 
have  broken  the  spell,  a  tear  have  washed  its  stain  ! 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  187 

Alas !  they  saw  it  not ;  she  spoke  it  not ;  she  was 
forsaking  the  guide  of  her  youth.  She  thinketh 
no  more  of  heaven.  She  breatheth  no  more  prayers. 
She  hath  no  more  penitential  tears  to  shed;  until, 
after  a  long  life,  she  drops  the  bitter  tear  upon 
the  cheek  of  despair, — then  her  only  suiter.  Thou 
hast  forsaken  the  covenant  of  thy  God.  Go  down  ! 
fall  never  to  rise  !     Hell  opens  to  be  thy  home ! 

Oh  Prince  of  torment !  if  thou  hast  transforming 
power,  give  some  relief  to  this  once  innocent  child, 
whom  another  has  corrupted !  Let  thy  deepest 
damnation  seize  him  who  brought  her  hither!  let 
his  coronation  be  upon  the  very  mount  of  torment ! 
and  the  rain  of  fiery  hail  be  his  salutation !  He 
shall  be  crowned  with  thorns  poisoned  and  anguish- 
bearing  ;  and  every  woe  beat  upon  him,  and  every 
wave  of  hell  roll  over  the  first  risings  of  barrled 
hope.  Thy  guilty  thoughts,  and  guilty  deeds,  shall 
flit  after  thee  with  bows  which  never  break,  and 
quivers  forever  emptying  but  never  exhausted  !  If 
Satan  hath  one  dart  more  poisoned  than  another; 
if  God  hath  one  bolt  more  transfixing  and  blast- 
ing than  another ;  if  there  be  one  hideous  spirit 
more  unrelenting  than  others ;  they  shall  be  thine, 
most  execrable  wretch !  who  led  her  to  forsake  the 
guide  of  her  youth,  and  to  abandon  the  covenant  of 
her  God. 


/^^I 


188  THE    STRANGE   WOMAN. 

II.  The  next  injunction  of  God  to  the  young  is 
upon  the  ensnaring  danger  of  Beauty.  Desire  not 
her  beauty  in  thy  heart,  neither  let  her  take  thee  with 
her  eyelids.  God  did  not  make  so  much  of  nature 
with  exquisite  beauty,  or  put  within  us  a  taste  for  it, 
without  object.  He  meant  that  it  should  delight  us. 
He  made  every  flower  to  charm  us.  He  never  made 
a  color,  nor  graceful-flying  bird,  nor  silvery  insect, 
without  meaning  to  please  our  taste.  When  He 
clothes  a  man  or  woman  with  beauty,  He  confers  a 
favor,  did  we  know  how  to  receive  it.  Beauty,  with 
amiable  dispositions  and  ripe  intelligence,  is  more  to 
any  woman  than  a  queen's  crown.  The  peasant's 
daughter,  the  rustic  belle,  if  they  have  woman's 
sound  discretion,  may  be  rightfully  prouder  than 
kings'  daughters;  for  God  adorns  those  who  are 
both  good  and  beautiful ;  man  can  only  conceal  the 
want  of  beauty,  by  blazing  jewels. 

As  moths  and  tiny  insects  flutter  around  the  bright 
blaze  which  was  kindled  for  no  harm,  so  the  foolish 
young,  fall  down  burned  and  destroyed  by  the 
blaze  of  beauty.  As  the  flame  which  burns  to  de- 
stroy the  insect,  is  consuming  itself  and  soon  sinks 
into  the  socket,  so  beauty,  too  often,  draws  on  itself 
that  ruin  which  it  inflicts  upon  others. 

If  God  hath  given  thee  beauty,  tremble ;  for  it  is 
as   gold  in    thy  house — thieves   and    robbers   will 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  189 

prowl  around  and  seek  to  possess  it.  If  God  hath  \  j^^ijl.-^. 
put  beauty  before  thine  eyes,  remember  how  many  *^-  Jus^~* 
strong  men  have  been  cast  down  wounded  by  it. 
Art  thou  stronger  than  David  ?  Art  thou  stronger 
than  mighty  patriarchs? — than  kings  and  princes, 
who,  by  its  fascinations,  have  lost  peace  and  purity, 
and  honor,  and  riches,  and  armies,  and  even  king- 
doms? Let  other  men's  destruction  be  thy  wisdom; 
for  it  is  hard  to  reap  prudence  upon  the  field  of  ex- 
perience. 

III.  In  the  minute  description  of  this  dangerous 
creature,  mark  next  how  seriously  we  are  cautioned 
of  her  Wiles.  . 

Her  wiles  of  dress.  Coverings  of  tapestry  and 
the  fine  linen  of  Egypt  are  hers ;  the  perfumes  of 
myrrh  and  aloes  and  cinnamon.  Silks  and  ribbons, 
laces  and  rings,  gold  and  equipage ;  ah  !  how  mean 
a  price  for  damnation.  The  wretch  who  would  be 
hung  simply  for  the  sake  of  riding  to  the  gallows  on  •'yuw*1*^** 
a  golden  chariot,  clothed  in  king's  raiment — what 
fool  were  he !  Yet  how  many  consent  to  enter  the 
chariot  of  Death, — drawn  by  the  fiery  steeds  of  lust 
which  fiercely  fly,  and  stop  not  for  food  or  breath 
till  they  have  accomplished  their  fatal  journey — if 
they  may  spread  their  seat  with  flowery  silks,  or 
flaunt  their  forms  with  glowing  apparel  and  precious 
jewels ! 


fc 


^ 


*r? 


190  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

Her  wiles  of  speech.  Beasts  may  not  speak ;  this 
honor  is  too  high  for  them.  To  God's  imaged-son 
this  prerogative  belongs,  to  utter  thought  and  feel- 
ing in  articulate  sounds.  We  may  breathe  our 
thoughts  to  a  thousand  ears,  and  infect  a  multitude 
with  the  best  portions  of  our  soul.  How,  then,  has 
this  soul's  breath,  this  echo  of  our  thoughts,  this  only 
image  of  our  feelings,  been  perverted,  that  from  the 
lips  of  sin  it  hath  more  persuasion,  than  from  the 
lips  of  wisdom  !  What  horrid  wizard  hath  put  the 
world  under  a  spell  and  charm,  that  words  from  the 
lips  of  a  strange  woman  shall  ring  upon  the  ear  like 
tones  of  music ;  while  words  from  the  divine  lips  of 
religion  fall  upon  the  startled  ear  like  the  funeral 
tones  of  the  burial-bell !  Philosophy  seems  crabbed; 
sin,  fair.  Purity  sounds  morose  and  cross ;  but  from 
the  lips  of  the  harlot,  words  drop  as  honey,  and 
flow  smoother  than  oil ;  her  speech  is  fair,  her  laugh 
is  merry  as  music.  The  eternal  glory  of  purity  has 
*no  lustre,  but  the  deep  damnation  of  lust  is  made 
as  bright  as  the  gate  of  heaven  ! 

Her  wiles  of  love.  Love  is  the  mind's  light  and 
heat ;  it  is  that  tenuous  air  in  which  all  the  other 
faculties  exist,  as  we  exist  in  the  atmosphere.  A 
mind  of  the  greatest  stature  without  love,  is  like  the 
huge  pyramid  of  Egypt — chill  and  cheerless  in  all 
its  dark  halls  and  passages.  A  mind  with  love,  is 
as  a  king's  palace  lighted  for  a  royal  festival. 


THE   STRANGE   WOMAN.  191 

Shame !  that  the  sweetest  of  all  the  mind's  attri- 
butes should  be  suborned  to  sin  !  that  this  daughter 
of  God  should  become  a  Ganymede  to  arrogant 
lusts  ! — the  cup-bearer  to  tyrants  ! — yet  so  it  is. 
Devil-tempter  !  will  thy  poison  never  cease  ? — shall 
beauty  be  poisoned  ? — shall  language  be  charmed  ? 
— shall  love  be  made  to  defile  like  pitch,  and  bum 
as  the  living  coals  ?  Her  tongue  is  like  a  bended 
bow,  which  sends  the  silvery  shaft  of  flattering 
words.  Her  eyes  shall  cheat  thee,  her  dress  shall 
beguile  thee,  her  beauty  is  a  trap,  her  sighs  are 
baits,  her  words  are  lures,  her  love  is  poisonous,  her 
flattery  is  the  spider's  web  spread  for  thee.  Oh  ! 
trust  not  thy  heart  nor  ear  with  Delilah  !  The  locks 
of  the  mightiest  Samson  are  soon  shorn  off,  if  he  /  A, 
will  but  lay  his  slumbering  head  upon  her  lap.  He 
who  could  slay  heaps  upon  heaps  of  Philistines,  and 
bear  upon  his  huge  shoulders  the  ponderous  iron- 
gate,  and  pull  down  the  vast  temple,  was  yet  too 
weak  to  contend  with  one  wicked  artful  woman ! 
Trust  the  sea  with  thy  tiny  boat,  trust  the  fickle 
wind,  trust  the  changing  skies  of  April,  trust  the  &J7 
miser's  generosity,  the  tyrant's  mercy ;  but  ah ! 
simple  man,  trust  not  thyself  near  the  artful  wo- 
man, armed  in  her  beauty,  her  cunning  raiment,  her 
dimpled  smiles,  her  sighs  of  sorrow,  her  look  of  love, 
her  voice  of  flattery  ; — for  if  thou  hadst  the  strength 


«/ 


192  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

of  ten  Ulysses,  unless  God  help  thee,  Calypso  shall 
make  thee  fast,  and  hold  thee  in  her  island  ! 

Next  beware  the  wile  of  her  reasonings.  To  him 
that  wanteth  understanding  she  saith,  stolen  waters 
are  siveet,  and  bread  eaten  in  secret  is  pleasant.  I 
came  forth  to  meet  thee,  and  I  have  found  thee. 

What  says  she  in  the  credulous  ear  of  inexperi- 
ence? Why,  she  tells  him  that  sin  is  safe;  she 
swears  to  him  that  sin  is  pure ;  she  protests  to  him 
that  sin  is  innocent.  Out  of  history  she  will  entice 
him,  and  say :  Who  hath  ever  refused  my  meat- 
offerings and  drink-offerings  ?  What  king  have 
I  not  sought?  What  conqueror  have  I  not  con- 
quered? Philosophers  have  not,  in  all  their  wisdom, 
learned  to  hate  me.  I  have  been  the  guest  of  the 
world's  greatest  men.  The  Egyptian  priest,  the 
Athenian  sage,  the  Roman  censor,  the  rude  Gaul, 
have  all  worshipped  in  my  temple.  Art  thou  afraid 
to  tread  where  Plato  trod,  and  the  pious  Socrates? 
Art  thou  wiser  than  all  that  ever  lived  ?/^  A*<4  f 

Nay,  she  readeth  the  Bible  to  him;  she  goeth 
back  along  the  line  of  history,  and  readeth  of  Abra- 
ham, and  of  his  glorious  compeers;  she  skippeth 
past  Joseph  with  averted  looks,  and  readeth  of 
David  and  of  Solomon;  and  whatever  chapter  tells 
how  good  men  stumbled,  there  she  has  turned  down 
a  leaf,  and  will  persuade  thee,  with  honeyed  speech, 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  193 

that  the  best  deeds  of  good  men  were  their  sins, 
and  that  thou  shouldst  only  imitate  them  in  their 
stumbling  and  falls ! 

Or,  if  the  Bible  will  not  cheat  thee,  how  will  she 
plead  thine  own  nature;  how  will  she  whisper,  God 
hath  made  thee  so.  How,  like  her  father,  will  she 
lure  thee  to  pluck  the  apple,  saying,  Thou  shalt  not 
surely  die.  And  she  will  hiss  at  virtuous  men,  and 
spit  on  modest  women,  and  shake  her  serpent-tongue 
at  any  purity  which  shall  keep  thee  from  her  ways. 
Oh !  then,  listen  to  what  God  says  :  With  much 
fair  speech  she  causeth  him  to  yield ;  with  the  flat- 
tery of  her  lips  she  forced  him.  He  goeth  after  hei* 
as  an  ox  goeth  to  slaughter,  or  as  a  fool  to  the  correc- 
tion of  the  stocks,  till  a  dart  strike  through  his  liver, 
— as  a  bird  hasteth  to  a  snare  and  knoweth  not  that 
it  is  for  his  life. 

I  will  point  only  to  another  wile.  When  inexpe- 
rience has  been  beguiled  by  her  infernal  machina- 
tions, how,  like  a  flock  of  startled  birds,  will  spring 
up  late  regrets,  and  shame,  and  fear;  and  worst  of 
all,  how  will  conscience  ply  her  scorpion-whip  and 
lash  thee,  uttering  with  stern  visage,  "thou  art  dis- 
honored, thou  art  a  wretch,  thou  art  lost!"  When 
the  soul  is  full  of  such  outcry,  memory  cannot 
sleep;  she  wakes,  and  while  conscience  still  plies  the 
scourge,  will  bring  back  to  thy  thoughts,  youthful 
17 


u. 


194  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

purity,  home,  a  mother's  face,  a  sister's  love,  a 
father's  counsel.  Perhaps  it  is  out  of  the  high  hea- 
caM  ven  tnat  tny  momer  looks  down  to  see  thy  baseness. 

Oh  !  if  she  has  a  mother's  heart, — nay,  but  she  can- 
not weep  for  thee  there  ! 

These  wholesome  pains,  not  to  be  felt  if  there 
were  not  yet  health  in  the  mind,  would  save  the  vic- 
tim, could  they  have  time  to  work.  But  how  often 
have  I  seen  the  spider  watch,  from  his  dark  round 
hole,  the  struggling  fly,  until  he  began  to  break  his 
web ;  and  then  dart  out  to  cast  his  long  lithe  arms 
about  him,  and  fasten  new  cords  stronger  than  ever. 
So,  God  saith,  the  strange  woman  shall  secure  her 
ensnared  victims,  if  they  struggle:  Lest  thou  shouldst 
ponder  the  path  of  life,  her  loays  are  movable  that 
thou  canst  not  know  them. 

She  is  afraid  to  see  thee  soberly  thinking  of  leav- 
ing her,  and  entering  the  path  of  life;  therefore  her 
ways  are  movable.  She  multiplies  devices,  she 
studies  a  thousand  new  wiles,  she  has  some  sweet 
word  for  every  sense — obsequience  for  thy  pride, 
praise  for  thy  vanity,  generosity  for  thy  selfishness, 
religion  for  thy  conscience,  racy  quips  for  thy  weari- 
someness,  spicy  scandal  for  thy  curiosity.  She  is 
never  still,  nor  the  same;  but  evolving  as  many 
shapes  as  the  rolling  cloud,  and  as  many  colors  as 
dress  the  wide  prairie. 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  195 

IV.  Having  disclosed  her  wiles,  let  me  show  you 
what  God  says  of  the  chances  of  escape  to  those 
who  once  follow  her :  None  that  go  unto  her  return 
agai?i,  neither  take  they  hold  of  the  paths  of  life. 
The  strength  of  this  language  was  not  meant  abso- 
lutely to  exclude  hope  from  those  who,  having  wasted 
their  substance  in  riotous  living,  would  yet  return ; 
but  to  warn  the  unfallen,  into  what  an  almost 
hopeless  gulf  they  plunge,  if  they  venture.  Some 
may  escape — as  here  and  there  a  mangled  sailor 
crawls  out  of  the  water  upon  the  beach, — the  only 
one  or  two  of  the  whole  crew ;  the  rest  are  gurgling 
in  the  wave  with  impotent  struggles,  or  already  sunk 
to  the  bottom.  There  are  many  evils  which  hold 
their  victims  by  the  force  of  habit ;  there  are  others 
which  fasten  them  by  breaking  their  return  to  so- 
ciety. Many  a  person  never  reforms,  because  reform 
would  bring  no  relief.  There  are  other  evils  which 
hold  men  to  them,  because  they  are  like  the  begin- 
ning of  a  fire  ;  they  tend  to  burn  with  fiercer  and 
wider  flames,  until  all  fuel  is  consumed,  and  go  out 
only  when  there  is  nothing  to  burn.  Of  this  last 
kind  is  the  sin  of  licentiousness :  and  when  the 
conflagration  once  breaks  out,  experience  has  shown, 
what  the  Bible  long  ago  declared,  that  the  chances 
of  reformation  are  few  indeed.  The  certainty  of 
continuance  is  so  great,  that  the  chances  of  escape 


196  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

are  dropped  from  the  calculation;  and  it  is  said 
roundly,  none  that  go  unto  her  return  again. 

V.  We  are  repeatedly  warned  against  the  strange 
woman's  house. 

There  is  no  vice  like  licentiousness,  to  delude 
with  the  most  fascinating  proffers  of  delight,  and 
fulfil  the  promise  with  the  most  loathsome  expe- 
rience. All  vices  at  the  beginning  are  silver- 
tongued,  but  none  so  impassioned  as  this.  All 
vices  in  the  end  cheat  their  dupes,  but  none  with 
such  overwhelming  disaster  as  licentiousness.  I 
shall  describe  by  an  allegory,  its  specious  seduc- 
tions, its  plausible  promises,  its  apparent  innocence, 
its  delusive  safety,  its  deceptive  joys, — their  change, 
their  sting,  their  flight,  their  misery,  and  the  vic- 
tim's ruin. 

Her  house  has  been  cunningly  planned  by  an  evil 
architect  to  attract  and  please  the  attention.  It 
stands  in  a  vast  garden  full  of  enchanting  objects. 
It  shines  in  glowing  colors,  and  seems  full  of  peace 
and  full  of  pleasure.  All  the  signs  are  of  unbounded 
enjoyment — safe,  if  not  innocent.  Though  every 
beam  is  rotten,  and  the  house  is  the  house  of  death, 
and  in  it  are  all  the  vicissitudes  of  infernal  misery ; 
yet  to  the  young  it  appears  a  palace  of  delight. 
They  will  not  believe  that  death  can  lurk  behind  so 
brilliant  a  fabric.     Those  who  are  within,  look  out 


THF    STRANGE    WOMAN.  197 

and  pine  to  return ;  and  those  who  are  without,  look 
in  and  pine  to  enter.  Such  is  the  mastery  of  delu- 
ding sin. 

That  part  of  the  garden  which  borders  on  the 
highway  of  innocence  is  carefully  planted.  There 
is  not  a  poison-weed,  nor  thorn,  nor  thistle  there. 
Ten  thousand  flowers  bloom,  and  waft  a  thousand 
odors.  A  victim  cautiously  inspects  it;  but  it  has 
been  too  carefully  patterned  upon  innocency  to  be 
easily  detected.  This  outer  garden  is  innocent; — 
innocence  is  the  lure  to  wile  you  from  the  path  into 
her  grounds ; — innocence  is  the  bait  of  that  trap  by 
which  she  has  secured  all  her  victims.  At  the  gate 
stands  a  comely  porter,  saying  blandly :  Whoso  is 
simple  let  him  tarn  in  hither.  Will  the  youth  enter  ? 
Will  he  seek  her  house?  To  himself  he  says,  "I 
will  enter  only  to  see  the  garden, — its  fruits,  its 
flowers,  its  birds,  its  arbors,  its  warbling  fountains  ! " 
He  is  resolved  in  virtue.  lie  seeks  wisdom,  not 
pleasure  ! — Dupe  !  you  are  deceived  already ;  and 
this  is  your  first  lesson  of  wisdom.  He  passes,  and 
the  porter  leers  behind  him !  He  is  within  an  En- 
chanter's garden !  Can  he  not  now  return,  if  he 
wishes  ? — he  will  not  wish  to  return,  until  it  is  too 
late.  He  ranges  the  outer  garden  near  to  the  high- 
way, thinking  as  he  walks  :  "  How  foolishly  have  I 
been  alarmed  at  pious  lies  about  this  beautiful 
17* 


198  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

place !     I  heard  it   was  Hell :   I   find  it  is   Para- 
dise !" 

Emboldened  by  the  innocency  of  his  first  steps, 
he  explores  the  garden  further  from  the  road.  The 
flowers  grow  richer  ;  their  odors  exhilarate ;  the 
very  fruit  breathes  perfume  like  flowers ;  and  birds 
seem  intoxicated  with  delight  among  the  fragrant 
shrubs  and  loaded  trees.  Soft  and  silvery  music 
steals  along  the  air.  "Are  angels  singing? — Oh! 
fool  that  I  was,  to  fear  this  place ;  it  is  all  the  heaven 
I  need !  Ridiculous  priest,  to  tell  me  that  death  was 
here,  where  all  is  beauty,  fragrance,  and  melody ! 
Surely,  death  never  lurked  in  so  gorgeous  apparel 
as  this !  Death  is  grim,  and  hideous ! "  He  has 
come  near  to  the  strange  woman's  house.  If  it  was 
beautiful  from  afar,  it  is  celestial  now;  for  his  eyes 
are  bewitched  with  magic.  When  our  passions 
enchant  us,  how  beautiful  is  the  way  to  death  !  In 
every  window  are  sights  of  pleasure;  from  every 
opening,  issue  sounds  of  joy — the  lute,  the  harp, 
bounding  feet,  and  echoing  laughter.  Nymphs  have 
descried  this  Pilgrim  of  temptation ; — they  smile 
and  beckon.  Where  are  his  resolutions  now  ?  This 
is  the  virtuous  youth  who  came  to  observe!  He 
has  already  seen  too  much!  but  he  will  see  more; 
he  will  taste,  feel,  regret,  weep,  wail,  die !  The 
most  beautiful    nymph    that  eye   ever    rested   on, 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  199 

approaches  with  decent  guise  and  modest  gestures, 
to  give  him  hospitable  welcome.  For  a  moment  he 
recalls  his  home,  his  mother,  his  sister-circle ;  but 
they  seem  far-away,  dim,  powerless !  Into  his  ear 
the  beautiful  herald  pours  the  sweetest  sounds  of 
love  :  "  You  are  welcome  here,  and  worthy  !  You 
have  early  wisdom,  to  break  the  bounds  of  super- 
stition, and  to  seek  these  grounds  where  summer 
never  ceases,  and  sorrow  never  comes  !  Hail !  and 
welcome  to  the  House  of  pleasure  ! "  There  seemed 
to  be  a  response  to  these  words;  the  house,  the 
trees,  and  the  very  air,  seemed  to  echo,  "  Hail !  and 
welcome  !  "  In  the  stillness  which  followed,  had  the 
victim  been  less  intoxicated,  he  might  have  heard  a 
clear  and  solemn  voice  which  seemed  to  fall  straight 
down  from  heaven  :  Come  not  nigh  the  door  of  her 
house.  Her  house  is  the  way  to  hell,  going  down 
to  the  chambers  of  death  ! 

It  is  too  late  !  He  has  gone  in, — who  shall  never 
return.  He  goeth  after  her  straightway  as  an  ox  goeth 
to  the  slaughter ;  or  as  a  fool  to  the  correction  of 
the  stocks  .  .  .  and  knoweth  not  that  it  is  for  his 
life. 

Enter  with  me,  in  imagination,  the  strange  wo- 
man's house — where,  God  grant  you  may  never 
enter  in  any  other  way.  There  are  five  wards — 
Pleasure,  Satiety,  Discovery,  Disease,  and  Death. 


's^zjtizt 


200  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

Ward  of  Pleasure. — The  eye  is  dazzled  with  the 
magnificence  of  its  apparel, — elastic  velvet,  glossy 
silks,  burnished  satin,  crimson  drapery,  plushy  car- 
pets. Exquisite  pictures  glow  upon  the  walls,  carved 
marble  adorns  every  niche.  The  inmates  are  de- 
ceived by  these  lying  shows;  they  dance,  they  sing; 
with  beaming  eyes  they  utter  softest  strains  of  flat- 
tery and  graceful  compliment.  They  partake  the 
amorous  wine,  and  the  repast  which  loads  the  table. 
They  eat,  they  drink,  they  are  blithe  and  merry. 
Surely,  they  should  be ;  for  after  this  brief  hour, 
they  shall  never  know  purity  nor  joy  again  !  For 
(%>0 ^  this  moment's  revelry,  they  are  selling  heaven! 
The  strange  woman  walks  among  her  guests  in  all 
her  charms ;  fans  the  flame  of  joy,  scatters  grateful 
odors,  and  urges  on  the  fatal  revelry.  As  her  pois- 
oned wine  is  quaffed,  and  the  gay  creatures  begin  to 
reel,  the  torches  wane  and  cast  but  a  twilight.  One 
by  one,  the  guests  grow  somnolent ;  and,  at  length, 
they  all  repose.  Their  cup  is  exhausted,  their  plea- 
sure is  forever  over,  life  has  exhaled  to  an  essence, 
and  that  is  consumed  !  While  they  sleep,  servitors, 
practised  to  the  work,  remove  them  all  to  another 
Ward. 

Ward  of  Satiety. — Here  reigns  a  bewildering  twi- 
light through  which  can  hardly  be  discerned  the 
wearied  inmates,  yet  sluggish   upon  their  couches. 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  201 

Overflushed  with  dance,  sated  with  wine  and  fruit, 
a  fitful  drowsiness  vexes  them.  They  wake,  to 
crave ;  they  taste,  to  loathe ;  they  sleep,  to  dream  : 
they  wake  again  from  unquiet  visions.  They  long 
for  the  sharp  taste  of  pleasure,  so  grateful  yesterday. 
Again  they  sink,  repining  to  sleep ;  by  starts,  they 
rouse  at  an  ominous  dream  ;  by  starts,  they  hear 
strange  cries!  The  fruit  burns  and  torments;  the 
wine  shoots  sharp  pains  through  their  pulse.  Strange 
wonder  fills  them.  They  remember  the  recent  joy, 
as  a  reveller  in  the  morning  thinks  of  his  midnight- 
madness.  The  glowing  garden  and  the  banquet 
now  seem  all  stripped  and  gloomy.  They  meditate 
return ;  pensively  they  long  for  their  native  spot !  At 
sleepless  moments,  mighty  resolutions  form, — sub- 
stantial as  a  dream.  Memory  grows  dark.  Hope 
will  not  shine.  The  past  is  not  pleasant;  the  present 
is  wearisome ;  and  the  future  gloomy. 

The  Ward  of  Discovery. — In  the  third  ward  no 
deception  remains.  The  floors  are  bare ;  the  naked 
walls  drip  filth  ;  the  air  is  poisonous  with  sickly 
fumes,  and  echoes  with  mirth  concealing  hideous 
misery.  None  supposes  that  he  has  been  happy. 
The  past  seems  like  the  dream  of  the  miser,  who 
gathers  gold  spilled  like  rain  upon  the  road,  and 
wakes,  clutching  his  bed,  and  crying  "  where  is  it?" 
On  your  right  hand,  as  you  enter,  close  by  the  door, 


202  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

is  a  group  of  fierce  felons  in  deep  drink  with  drug- 
ged liquor.  With  red  and  swoln  faces,  or  white 
and  thin ;  or  scarred  with  ghastly  corruption ;  with 
scowling  brows,  baleful  eyes,  bloated  lips  and  de- 
moniac grins; — in  person  all  uncleanly,  in  morals 
all  debauched,  in  peace,  bankrupt — the  desperate 
wretches  wrangle  one  with  the  other,  swearing  bit- 
ter oaths,  and  heaping  reproaches  each  upon  each ! 
Around  the  room  you  see  miserable  creatures  unap- 
pareled,  or  dressed  in  rags,  sobbing  and  moaning. 
That  one  who  gazes  out  at  the  window,  calling  for 
her  mother  and  weeping,  was  right  tenderly  and 
purely  bred.  She  has  been  baptized  twice, — once  to 
God,  and  once  to  the  Devil.  She  sought  this  place 
in  the  very  vestments  of  God's  house.  "  Call  not 
on  thy  mother !  she  is  a  saint  in  Heaven,  and  can- 
not hear  thee !  "  Yet,  all  night  long  she  dreams  of 
home,  and  childhood,  and  wakes  to  sigh  and  weep : 
and  between  her  sobs,  she  cries  "mother!  mother!" 
Yonder  is  a  youth,  once  a  servant  at  God's  altar. 
His  hair  hangs  tangled  and  torn ;  his  eyes  are  blood- 
shot ;  his  face  is  livid ;  his  fist  is  clenched.  All  the 
day,  he  wanders  up  and  down,  cursing  sometimes 
himself,  and  sometimes  the  wretch  that  brought  him 
hither  ;  and  when  he  sleeps,  he  dreams  of  Hell ; 
and  then  he  wakes  to  feel  all  he  dreamed.  This  is 
the  Ward  of  reality.     All  know  why  the  first  rooms 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  203 

looked  so  gay — they  were  enchanted  !  It  was  en- 
chanted wine  they  drank  ;  and  enchanted  fruit  they 
ate  :  now  they  know  the  pain  of  fatal  food  in  every 
limb! 

Ward  of  Disease. — Ye  that  look  wistfully  at  the 
pleasant  front  of  this  terrific  house,  come  with  me 
now,  and  look  long  into  the  terror  of  this  Ward ;  for 
here  are  the  seeds  of  sin  in  their  full  harvest  form ! 
We  are  in  a  lazar-room ;  its  air  oppresses  every 
sense;  its  sights  confound  our  thoughts;  its  sounds 
pierce  our  ear ;  its  stench  repels  us ;  it  is  full  of  dis- 
eases. Here  a  shuddering  wretch  is  clawing  at  his 
breast,  to  tear  away  that  worm  which  gnaws  his 
heart.  By  him  is  another,  whose  limbs  are  drop- 
ping from  his  ghastly  trunk.  Next,  swelters  another 
in  reeking  filth;  his  eyes  rolling  in  bony  sockets, 
every  breath  a  pang,  and  every  pang  a  groan.  But 
yonder,  on  a  pile  of  rags,  lies  one  whose  yells  of 
frantic  agony  appall  every  ear.  Clutching  his  rags 
with  spasmodic  grasp,  his  swoln  tongue  lolling  from 
a  blackened  mouth,  his  bloodshot  eyes  glaring  and 
rolling,  he  shrieks  oaths;  now  blaspheming  God, 
and  now  imploring  him.  He  hoots  and  shouts,  and 
shakes  his  grisly  head  from  side  to  side,  cursing  or 
praying;  now  calling  death,  and  then,  as  if  driving 
away  fiends,  yelling,  avaunt !  avaunt ! 

Another  has  been  ridden  by  pain,  until  he  can  no 


)*<&7U 


A 


204  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

longer  shriek;  but  lies  foaming  and  grinding  his 
teeth,  and  clenches  his  bony  hands,  until  the  nails 
pierce  the  palm — though  there  is  no  blood  there  to 
issue  out — trembling  all  the  time  with  the  shudders 
and  chills  of  utter  agony.  The  happiest  wretch  in 
all  this  Ward,  is  an  Idiot ; — dropsical,  distorted,  and 
moping;  all  day  he  wags  his  head,  and  chatters, 
and  laughs,  and  bites  his  nails;  then  he  will  sit  for 
hours  motionless,  with  open  jaw,  and  glassy  eye 
fixed  on  vacancy.  In  this  ward  are  huddled  all  the 
diseases  of  pleasure.  This  is  the  torture-room  of 
the  strange  woman's  House,  and  it  excels  the  Inqui- 
sition. The  wheel,  the  rack ;  the  bed  of  knives,  the 
roasting  fire,  the  brazen  room  slowly  heated,  the 
slivers  driven  under  the  nails,  the  hot  pincers, — what 
are  these  to  the  agonies  of  the  last  days  of  licentious 
vice?  Hundreds  of  rotting  wretches  would  change 
their  couch  of  torment  in  the  strange  woman's 
House,  for  the  gloomiest  terror  of  the  Inquisition, 
and  profit  by  the  change.  Nature  herself  becomes 
the  tormentor.  Nature,  long  trespassed  on  and 
abused,  at  length  casts  down  the  wretch  ;  searches 
every  vein,  makes  a  road  of  every  nerve  for  the 
scorching  feet  of  pain  to  travel  on,  pulls  at  every 
muscle,  breaks  in  the  breast,  builds  fires  in  the  brain, 
eats  out  the  skin,  and  casts  living  coals  of  torment 
on  the  heart.     What  are  hot  pincers  to  the  enven- 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  205 

omed  claws  of  disease  ?  What  is  it  to  be  put  into  a 
pit  of  snakes  and  slimy  toads,  and  feel  their  cold 
coil  or  piercing  fang,  to  the  creeping  of  a  whole  ,  rv 
body  of  vipers? — where  every  nerve  is  a  viper,  and  / 
every  vein  a  viper,  and  every  muscle  a  serpent ;  and 
the  whole  body,  in  all  its  parts,  coils  and  twists  upon 
itself  in  unimaginable  anguish?  I  tell  you,  there 
is  no  Inquisition  so  bad  as  that  which  the  Doctor 
looks  upon  !  Young  man  ?  I  can  show  you  in  this 
Ward  worse  pangs  than  ever  a  savage  produced  at 
the  stake! — than  ever  a  tyrant  wrung  out  by  en- 
gines of  torment ! — than  ever  an  inquisitor  devised  ! 
Every  year,  in  every  town,  die  wretches  scalded 
and  scorched  with  agony.^Were  the  sum  of  all  the  h 
pain  that  comes  with  the  last  stages  of  vice  collected, 
it  would  rend  the  very  heavens  with  its  outcry ; 
would  shake  the  earth ;  would  even  blanch  the 
cheek  of  Infatuation  !  v  Ye  that  are  listening  in  the 
garden  of  this  strange  woman,  among  her  cheating 
flowers ;  ye  that  are  dancing  in  her  halls  in  the  first 
Ward,  come  hither;  look  upon  her  fourth  Ward — 
its  vomited  blood,  its  sores  and  fiery  blotches,  its  * 
prurient  sweat,  its  dissolving  ichor,  and  rotten 
bones!  Stop,  young  man!  You  turn  your  head 
from  this  ghastly  room ;  and  yet,  stop  ! — and  stop 
soon,  or  thou  shalt  lie  here  !  mark  the  solemn  signals 
of  thy  passage !  Thou  hast  had  already  enough 
18 


P4 


206  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

of  warnings  in  thy  cheek,  in  thy  bosom,  in  thy 
pangs  of  premonition ! 

But  ah  !  every  one  of  you  who  are  dancing  with 
the  covered  paces  of  death,  in  the  strange  woman's 
first  hall,  let  me  break  your  spell;  for  now  I  shall 
open  the  doors  of  the  last  Ward.  Look ! — Listen  ! — 
Witness  your  own  end,  unless  you  take  quickly  a 
warning ! 

Ward  of  Death. — No  longer  does  the  incarnate 
wretch  pretend  to  conceal  her  cruelty.  She  thrusts 
— aye !  as  if  they  were  dirt — she  shovels  out  the 
wretches.  Some  fall  headlong  through  the  rotten 
floor, — a  long  fall  to  a  fiery  bottom.  The  floor  trem- 
bles to  deep  thunders  which  roll  below.  Here  and 
there,  jets  of  flame  sprout  up,  and  give  a  lurid  light 
to  the  murky  hall.  Some  would  fain  escape;  and 
flying  across  the  treacherous  floor,  which  man  never 
safely  passed,  they  go,  through  pitfalls  and  treacher- 
ous traps,  with  hideous  outcries  and  astounding 
yells,  to  perdition !  Fiends  laugh !  The  infer- 
nal laugh,  the  cry  of  agony,  the  thunder  of  dam- 
nation, shake  the  very  roof  and  echo  from  wall  to 
wall. 

Oh !  that  the  young  might  see  the  end  of  vice 
before  they  see  the  beginning !  I  know  that  you 
shrink  from  this  picture;  but  your  safety  requires 
that  you  should  look  long  into  the  Ward  of  Death, 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  207 

that  fear  may  supply  strength  to  your  virtue.  See 
the  blood  oozing  from  the  wall,  the  fiery  hands 
which  pluck  the  wretches  down,  the  light  of  hell  *- — %Ji 
gleaming  through,  and  hear  its  roar  as  of  a  distant 
ocean  chafed  with  storms.  Will  you  sprinkle  the 
wall  with  your  blood  ? — will  you  feed  those  flames 
with  your  flesh  ? — will  you  add  your  voice  to  those 
thundering  wails? — will  you  go  down  a  prey 
through  the  fiery  floor  of  the  chamber  of  death? 
Believe  then  the  word  of  God  :  Her  house  is  the  way 
to  hell,  going  down  to  the  chambers  of  death,  .  .  . 
avoid  it,  pass  not  by  it,  turn  from  it,  and  pass  away  ! 

I  have  described  the  strange  woman's  House  in 
strong  language,  and  it  needed  it.  If  your  taste 
shrinks  from  the  description,  so  does  mine.  Hell, 
and  all  the  ways  of  hell,  when  we  pierce  the  cheat- 
ing disguises  and  see  the  truth,  are  terrible  and  try-  h^s^J^ 
ing  to  behold ;  and  if  men  would  not  walk  there, 
neither  would  we  pursue  their  steps,  to  sound  the 
alarm,  and  gather  back  whom  we  can. 

Allow  me  to  close  by  directing  your  attention  to  a 
few  points  of  especial  danger.  * 

I.  I  solemnly  warn  you  against  indulging  a  mor- 
bid imagination.  In  that  busy  and  mischievous 
faculty  begins  the  evil.  Were  it  not  for  his  airy 
imaginations,  man  might  stand  his  own  master — not 
overmatched  by  the  worst  part  of  himself.     But  ah  ! 


208  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

these  summer-reveries,  these  venturesome  dreams, 
these  fairy  castles,  builded  for  no  good  purposes, — 
they  are  haunted  by  impure  spirits,  who  will  fasci- 
nate, bewitch,  and  corrupt  you.  Blessed  are  the 
pare  in  heart.  Blessed  art  thou,  most  favored  of 
God,  whose  thoughts  are  chastened;  whose  imag- 
ination will  not  breathe  or  fly  in  tainted  air ;  and 
whose  path  hath  been  measured  by  the  golden  reed 
of  Purity. 

May  I  not  paint  Purity,  as  a  saintly  virgin,  in 
(yQ         spotless  white,  walking  with  open  face,  in  an  air  so 
clear  that  no  vapor  can  stain  it  ? 

"  Upon  her  lightning-brow  love  proudly  sitting, 
Flames  out  in  power,  shines  out  in  majesty." 

Her  steps  are  a  queen's  steps ;  God  is  her  father,  and 
thou  her  brother,  if  thou  wilt  make  her  thine !  Let 
thy  heart  be  her  dwelling  ;  wear  upon  thy  hand  her 
ring,  and  on  thy  breast  her  talisman. 

IT.  Next  to  evil  imaginations,  I  warn  the  young 
of  evil  companions.  Decaying  fruit  corrupts  the 
neighboring  fruit.  You  cannot  make  your  head  a 
metropolis  of  base  stories,  the  ear  and  tongue  a 
highway  of  immodest  words,  and  yet  be  pure. 
Another,  as  well  as  yourself,  may  throw  a  spark  on 
the  magazine  of  your  passions — beware  how  your 
companions  do  it !     No  man  is  your  friend  who  will 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  209 

corrupt  you.  An  impure  man  is  every  good  man's  ^i/J<a^Lk, 
enemy — your  deadly  foe;  and  all  the  worse,  if  he 
hide  his  poisoned  dagger  under  the  cloak  of  good 
fellowship.  Therefore,  select  your  associates,  assort 
them,  winnow  them,  keep  the  grain,  and  let  the  wind 
sweep  away  the  chaff. 

III.  But  I  warn  you,  with  yet  more  solemn  em- 
phasis, against  evil  books  and  evil  pictures.  There 
is  in  every  town  an  under-current  which  glides  be- 
neath our  feet  unsuspected  by  the  pure;  out  of 
which,  notwithstanding,  our  sons  scoop  many  a 
goblet.  Books  are  hidden  in  trunks,  concealed  in 
dark  holes;  pictures  are  stored  in  sly  portfolios,  or 
trafficked  from  hand  to  hand ;  and  the  handiwork 
of  depraved  art  is  seen  in  other  forms  which  ought  j 
to  make  a  harlot  blush. 

I  should  think  a  man  would  loathe  himself,  and 
wake  up  from  owning  such  things  as  from  a  horrible 
nightmare.  -Those  who  circulate  them  are  incen- 
diaries of  morality ;  those  who  make  them,  equal 
the  worst  public  criminals.  A  pure  heart  would 
shrink  from  these  abominable  things  as  from  death. 
France,  where  religion  long  ago  went  out  smothered  ^ 
in  licentiousness,  has  flooded  the  world  with  a  spe-  ' 
cies  of  literature  redolent  of  depravity.  Upon  the 
plea  of  exhibiting  nature  and  man,  novels  are  now 
scooped  out  of  the  very  lava  of  corrupt  passions. 
18* 


210  THE    STRANGE   WOMAN. 

They  are  true  to  nature,  but  to  nature  as  it  exists 
in  knaves  and  courtesans.  Under  a  plea  of  human- 
ity, we  have  shown  up  to  us,  troops  of  harlots,  to 
prove  that  they  are  not  so  bad  as  purists  think ; 
gangs  of  desperadoes,  to  show  that  there  is  nothing 
in  crime  inconsistent  with  the  noblest  feelings.  We 
have  in  French  and  English  novels  of  the  infernal 
school,  humane  murderers,  lascivious  saints,  holy 
infidels,  honest  robbers.  These  artists  never  seem 
lost,  except  when  straining  after  a  conception  of  re 
ligion.  Their  devotion  is  such  as  might  be  expected 
from  thieves,  in  the  purlieus  of  thrice-deformed 
vice.  Exhausted  libertines  are  our  professors  of 
morality.  They  scrape  the  very  sediment  and  muck 
of  society  to  mould  their  creatures;  and  their  vol- 
umes are  monster-galleries,  in  which  the  inhabitants 
of  old  Sodom  would  have  felt  at  home  as  connois- 
seurs and  critics.  Over  loathsome  women,  and 
unutterably  vile  men,  huddled  together  in  motley 
groups,  and  over  all  their  monstrous  deeds,  their 
lies,  their  plots,  their  crimes,  their  dreadful  pleasures, 
their  glorying  conversation,  is  thrown  the  check- 
ered light  of  a  hot  imagination,  until  they  glow  with 
an  infernal  lustre.  Novels  of  the  French  school, 
and  of  English  imitators,  are  the  common-sewers 
of  society,  into  which  drain  the  concentrated  filth 
of  the  worst  passions,  of  the  worst  creatures,  of  the 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  211 

worst  cities.  Such  novels  come  to  us  impudently 
pretending  to  be  reformers  of  morals  and  liberalizers 
of  religion ;  they  propose  to  instruct  our  laws,  and 
teach  a  discreet  humanity  to  justice!  The  Ten 
Plagues  have  visited  our  literature ;  water  is  turned 
to  blood;  frogs  and  lice  creep  and  hop  over  our 
most  familiar  things, — the  couch,  the  cradle,  and 
the  bread-trough;  locusts,  murrain,  and  fire,  are 
smiting  every  green  thing.  I  am  ashamed  and  out- 
raged when  I  think  that  wretches  could  be  found  to 
open  these  foreign  seals,  and  let  out  their  plagues 
upon  us — that  any  Satanic  Pilgrim  should  voyage 
to  France  to  dip  from  the  dead  sea  of  her  abomin- 
ation, a  baptism  for  our  sons.  It  were  a  mercy  to 
this,  to  import  serpents  from  Africa  and  pour  them 
out  on  our  prairies ;  lions  from  Asia,  and  free  them 
in  our  forests ;  lizards  and  scorpions  and  black  taran- 
tulas, from  the  Indies,  and  put  them  in  our  gardens. 
Men  could  slay  these,  but  those  offspring-reptiles 
of  the  French  mind,  who  can  kill  these?  You 
might  as  well  draw  sword  on  a  plague,  or  charge 
a  malaria  with  the  bayonet.  This  black-lettered 
literature  circulates  in  this  town,  floats  in  our  stores, 
nestles  in  the  shops,  is  fingered  and  read  nightly, 
and  hatches  in  the  young  mind  broods  of  salacious 
thoughts.  While  the  parent  strives  to  infuse  Chris- 
tian purity  into  his  child's  heart,  he  is  anticipated 


212  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

by  most  accursed  messengers  of  evil ;  and  the  heart 
hisses  already  like  a  nest  of  young  and  nimble 
vipers. 

IV.  Once  more,  let  me  persuade  you  that  no  ex- 
amples in  high  places,  can  justify  imitation  in  low 
places.  Your  purity  is  too  precious  to  be  bartered, 
because  an  official  knave  tempts  by  his  example.  I 
would  that  every  eminent  place  of  state  were  a 
sphere  of  light,  from  which  should  be  flung  down 
on  your  path  a  cheering  glow  to  guide  you  on  to 
virtue.  But  if  these  wandering  stars,  reserved  I  do 
believe  for  final  blackness  of  darkness,  wheel  their 
malign  spheres  in  the  orbits  of  corruption, — go  not 
after  them.  God  is  greater  than  wicked  great  men ; 
heaven  is  higher  than  the  highest  places  of  nations ; 
and  if  God  and  heaven  are  not  brighter  to  your  eyes 
than  great  men  in  high  places,  then  you  must  take 
part  in  their  doom,  when,  ere  long,  God  shall  dash 
them  to  pieces ! 

V.  Let  me  beseech  you,  lastly,  to  guard  your 
heart-purity.  Never  lose  it ;  if  it  be  gone,  you  have 
lost  from  the  casket  the  most  precious  gift  of  God. 
The  first  purity  of  imagination,  of  thought,  and  of 
feeling,  if  soiled,  can  be  cleansed  by  no  fuller's  soap ; 
if  lost,  cannot  be  found,  though  sought  carefully 
with  tears.  If  a  harp  be  broken,  art  may  repair  it ; 
if  a  light  be  quenched,  the  flame  may  enkindle  it; 


THE    STRANGE    WOMAN.  213 

but  if  a  flower  be  crushed,  what  art  can  repair  it? — 
if  an  odor  be  wafted  away,  who  can  collect  or  bring 
it  back? 

The  heartof  youth  js._ajwide  prairie.  Over  it 
hang  the  clouds  of  heaven  to  water  it,  the  sun 
throws  its  broad  sheets  of  light  upon  it,  to  wake  its 
life  ;  out  of  its  bosom  spring,  the  long  season  through, 
flowers  of  a  hundred  names  and  hues,  twining 
together  their  lovely  forms,  wafting  to  each  other 
a  grateful  odor,  and  nodding  each  to  each  in  the 
summer-breeze.  Oh !  such  would  man  be,  did  he 
hold  that  purity  of  heart  which  God  gave  him ! 
But  you  have  a  depraved  heart.  It  is  a  vast  conti- 
nent;  on  it  are  mountain-ranges  of  powers,  and 
dark  deep  streams,  and  pools,  and  morasses.  If  once 
the  full  and  terrible  clouds  of  temptation  do  settle 
thick  and  fixedly  upon  you,  and  begin  to  cast  down 
their  dreadful  stores,  may  God  save  whom  man  can 
never  !  Then  the  heart  shall  feel  tides  and  streams 
of  irresistible  power,  mocking  its  control,  and  hurry- 
ing fiercely  down  from  steep  to  steep,  with  growing 
desolation.  Your  only  resource  is  to  avoid  the 
uprising  of  your  giant-passions. 

We  are  drawing  near  to  a  festival  day,*  by  the 
usage  of  ages,  consecrated  to  celebrate  the  birth  of 
Christ.     At  his  advent,  God  hung  out  a  prophet-star 

♦This  Lecture  was  delivered  upon  Christmas-eve, 


C 


214  THE    STRANGE    WOMAN. 

in  the  heaven ;  guided  by  it,  the  wise  men  journeyed 
from  the  east  and  worshipped  at  his  feet.  Oh !  let 
the  star  of  Purity  hang  out  to  thine  eye,  brighter 
than  the  orient  orb  to  the  Magi ;  let  it  lead  thee,  not 
to  the  Babe,  but  to  His  feet  who  now  stands  in 
Heaven,  a  Prince  and  Saviour !  If  thou  hast  sin- 
ned, one  look,  one  touch,  shall  cleanse  thee  whilst 
thou  art  worshipping,  and  thou  shalt  rise  up  healed. 

Note. — The  exceptions  taken  to  ihe  current  reformation-novels  of  God- 
win, Bulwer.  Dickens,  (perhaps,)  Eugene  Sue,  and  a  host  of  others, 
require  a  word  of  explanation.  1.  We  do  not  object  to  any  reasonable 
effort  at  reformation,  moral,  social,  civil,  or  economical — much  is  needed. 
So  far,  the  design  of  this  school  of  romancers  is  praiseworthy.  2.  But 
■we  doubt  the  propriety  of  employing  fictions  as  an  instrument ;  especially 
fictions  wrought  to  produce  a  stage-effect,  a  violent  thrill,  rather  than  a 
conviction.  These  works  affect  the  feelings  more  than  the  opinions.  3. 
Nine  tenths  of  novel-readers  are  the  young,  the  unreflecting,  or  those  whose 
hearts  have  been  macadamised  by  the  incessant  tramping  of  ten  times  ten 
thousand  heroes  and  heroines,  marching  across  their  feelings.  Efforts  at 
reformation  should  be  directed  to  other  readers  than  these.  4.  But  the 
worst  is  yet  to  be  told.  Under  the  pretence  of  social  reformations,  the 
most  flagitious  vices  are  inculcated.  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  it.  An 
analysis  of  the  best  characters  would  give  pride,  lawlessness,  passion, 
revenge,  lusts,  hypocrisies  ;  in  short,  a  catalogue  of  vices.  Eugene  Sue 
seeks  to  raise  the  operatives,  to  show  the  ruinous  partiality  of  law,  the 
hideous  evils  of  prisons,  &c,  &c.  The  design  appears  well.  What  part  of 
this  design  are  the  constant  and  deliberate  lies  of  Rodolphe,  the  hero? 
This  wandering  prince  coolly  justifies  himself  in  putting  out  a  man's  eyes, 
because  the  law  would  slay  him  if  dcliyered  up! — provides  means  for 
decoying  convicts  from  prison  ! — sets  on  foot  atrocious  deceptions,  to  crush 
deceptions  !  This  is  the  best  character  in  the  far-famed  Mysteries  of  Paris. 
Unquestionably  the  purest  woman  is  Goualeuse,  redeemed  from  prostitu- 
tion !  Madame  Lucenay  lives  in  unblushing  adultery  with  Saint  Remy, 
who  proves  to  be  a  forger  !  We  are  edified  by  a  scene  of  noble  indigna- 
tion and  virtue,  in  which  this  woman,  who  has  violated  the  most  sacred 
instincts,  and  all  the  sanctities  of  the  family,  teaches  Remy  Ins  degrada- 
tion for  violating  civil  laws!  Admirable  reform!  An  unblushing  adul- 
teress preaches  so  well  to  her  paramour  forger!  The  diabolical  voluptu- 
ousness of  Cecily— the  assignations  of  the  purr  Madame  D'Harville — the 
astonishing  reformations  produced  in  a  single  hour,  in  which  harlots  turn 
vestals,  murderers  philanthropists,  poachers  and  marauders  more  honest 
than  honest  men — these  are  but  specimens  of  the  instruments  by  which  this 
new  and  popular  reform  is  changing  our  morals,  and  Christianizing  us ! 
What  then  shall  be  said  of  the  works  of  George  Sands,  Masson,  Dumas, 
M.  de  Balsac  and  others  like  them,  by  whose  side  Eugene  Sue  is  an  angel 
of  purity?  A  bookseller  m  a  large  city  on  the  Ohio  river,  on  being  asked, 
of  what  work  he  sold  the  most,  replied — "of  Paul  de  Kock !  " — the  lit- 
erary prince  of  nastiness. 


LECTUKE    VII 


Rejoice,  O  young  man,  in  thy  youth,  and  let  thy  heart  cheer  thee  in  the 
days  of  thy  youth,  and  walk  in  the  ways  of  thine  heart,  and  in  the  sight 
of  thine  eyes  ;  but  know  thou,  that  for  all  these  things  God  will  bring 
thee  into  judgment.     Eccl.  xi.  9. 

I  am  to  venture  the  delicate  task  of  reprehension, 
always  unwelcome,  but  peculiarly  offensive  upon 
topics  of  public  popular  amusement.  I  am  anxious, 
in  the  beginning,  to  put  myself  right  with  the  young. 
If  I  satisfy  myself,  Christian  men,  and  the  sober  com- 
munity, and  do  not  satisfy  them,  my  success  will  be 
like  a  physician's,  whose  prescriptions  please  him- 
self, and  the  relations,  and  do  good  to  everybody 
except  the  patient, — he  dies. 

Allow  me,  first  of  all,  to  satisfy  you  that  I  am  not 
meddling  with  matters  which  do  not  concern  me. 
This  is  the  impression  which  the  patrons  and  part- 
ners of  criminal  amusements  study  to  make  upon 
your  minds.  They  represent  our  duty  to  be  in  the 
church, — taking  care  of  doctrines,  and  of  our  own 
members.     When  more  than  this  is  attempted;  when 


216  POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

we  speak  a  word  for  you  who  are  not  church-mem- 
bers, we  are  met  with  the  surly  answer,  "  Why  do 
you  meddle  with  things  which  don't  concern  you  ? 
If  you  do  not  enjoy  these  pleasures,  why  do  you 
molest  those  who  do?  May  not  men  do  as  they 
please  in  a  free  country,  without  being  hung  up  in 
a  gibbet  of  public  remark?"  It  is  conveniently  for- 
gotten, I  suppose,  that  in  a  free  country  we  have 
the  same  right  to  criticise  pleasure,  which  others 
have  to  enjoy  it.  Indeed,  you  and  I  both  know, 
young  gentlemen,  that  in  coffee-house  circles,  and 
in  convivial  feasts  nocturnal,  the  Church  is  regarded 
as  little  better  than  a  spectacled  old  beldam,  whose 
impertinent  eyes  are  spying  everybody's  business 
but  her  own ;  and  who,  too  old  or  too  homely 
to  be  tempted  herself,  with  compulsory  virtue,  pouts 
at  the  joyous  dalliances  of  the  young  and  gay. 
Religion  is  called  a  nun,  sable  with  gloomy  vest- 
ments; and  the  Church  a  cloister,  where  ignorance 
is  deemed  innocence,  and  which  sends  out  querulous 
reprehensions  of  a  world,  which  it  knows  nothing 
about,  and  has  professedly  abandoned.  This  is 
pretty;  and  is  only  defective,  in  not  being  true.  The 
Church  is  not  a  cloister,  nor  her  members  recluses, 
nor  are  our  censures  of  vice  intermeddling.  Not  to 
dwell  in  generalities,  let  us  take  a  plain  and  common 
case: 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  217 

A  strolling  company  offer  to  educate  our  youth ; 
and  to  show  the  community  the  road  of  morality, 
which,  probably  they  have  not  seen  themselves  for 
twenty  years.  We  cannot  help  laughing  at  a  gen- 
erosity so  much  above  one's  means :  and  when  they 
proceed  to  hew  and  hack  each  other  with  rusty  iron, 
to  teach  our  boys  valor ;  and  dress  up  practical 
mountebanks,  to  teach  theoretical  virtue ;  if  we 
laugh  somewhat  more,  they  turn  upon  us  testily  : 
Do  you  mind  your  own  busiiiess,  and  leave  us  with 
ours.  We  do  not  interfere  with  your  preaching,  do 
you  let  alone  our  acting. 

But  softly — may  not  religious  people  amuse  them- 
selves with  very  diverting  men?  I  hope  it  is  not  / 
bigotry  to  have  eyes  and  ears :  I  hope  it  is  not 
fanaticism,  in  the  use  of  these  excellent  senses,  for  us 
to  judge  that  throwing  one's  heels  higher  than  their 
head  a-dancing,  is  not  exactly  the  way  to  teach  § 
virtue  to  our  daughters;  and  that  women,  whose 
genial  warmth  of  temperament  has  led  them  into  a 
generosity  something  too  great,  are  not  the  persons 
to  teach  virtue,  at  any  rate.  Oh  !  no ;  we  are  told, 
Christians  must  not  know  that  all  this  is  very  sin- 
gular. Christians  ought  to  think  that  men  who  are 
kings  and  dukes  and  philosophers  on  the  stage,  are 
virtuous  men,  even  if  they  gamble  at  night,  and  are 
drunk  all  day;  and  if  men  are  so  used  to  comedy, 
19 


hs\) 


218  POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

that  their  life  becomes  a  perpetual  farce  on  morality, 
we  have  no  right  to  laugh  at  this  extra  professional 
acting! 

Are  we  meddlers,  who  only  seek  the  good  of  our 
own  families,  and  of  our  own  community  where  we 
live  and  expect  to  die?  or  they,  who  wander  up  and 
down  without  ties  of  social  connection,  and  without 
aim,  except  of  money  to  be  gathered  off  from  men's 
vices? 

I  am  anxious  to  put  all  religious  men  in  their 
right  position  before  you ;  and  in  this  controversy 
between  them  and  the  gay  world,  to  show  you  the 
facts  upon  both  sides.  A  floating  population,  in 
pairs  or  companies,  without  leave  asked,  blow  the 
trumpet  for  all  our  youth  to  flock  to  their  banners ! 
Are  they  related  to  them? — are  they  concerned  in 
the  welfare  of  our  town  ? — do  they  live  among  us  ? 
— do  they  bear  any  part  of  our  burdens  ? — do  they 
care  for  our  substantial  citizens?  We  grade  our 
streets,  build  our  schools,  support  all  our  municipal 
laws,  and  the  young  men  are  ours ;  our  sons,  our 
brothers,  our  wards,  clerks,  or  apprentices ;  they 
are  living  in  our  houses,  our  stores,  our  shops,  and 
we  are  their  guardians,  and  take  care  of  them  in 
health,  and  watch  them  in  sickness ;  yet  every  vag- 
abond who  floats  in  hither,  swears  and  swaggers, 
as  if  they  were  all  his :  and  when  they  offer  to  cor- 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  219 

rupt  all  these  youth,  we  paying  them  round  sums 
of  money  for  it,  and  we  get  courage  finally  to  say 
that  we  had  rather  not ;  that  industry  and  honesty 
are  better  than  expert  knavery — they  turn  upon  us 
in  great  indignation  with,  Why  dortt  you  mind  your 
own  business — what  are  you  meddling  with  our  affairs 
for? 

I  will  suppose  a  case.  With  much  pains-taking, 
I  have  saved  enough  money  to  buy  a  little  garden- 
spot.  I  put  all  around  it  a  good  fence — I  put  the 
spade  into  it  and  mellow  the  soil  full  deep ;  I  go  to 
the  nursery  and  pick  out  choice  fruit  trees — I  send 
abroad  and  select  the  best  seeds  of  the  rarest  vege- 
tables; and  so  my  garden  thrives.  I  know  every 
inch  of  it,  for  I  have  watered  every  inch  with  sweat. 
One  morning  I  am  awakened  by  a  mixed  sound  of 
sawing,  digging,  and  delving:  and  looking  out,  I 
see  a  dozen  men  at  work  in  my  garden.  I  run 
down  and  find  one  man  sawing  out  a  huge  hole  in 
the  fence.  "My  dear  sir,  what  are  you  doing?" 
"  Oh,  this  high  fence  is  very  troublesome  to  climb 
over;  I  am  fixing  an  easier  way  for  folks  to  get  in." 
Another  man  has  headed  down  several  choice  trees, 
and  is  putting  in  new  grafts.  "Sir,  what  are  you 
changing  the  kind  for?"  "Oh,  this  kind  don't  suit 
me ;  I  like  a  new  kind."  One  man  is  digging  up  my 
beans,  to  plant  cockles;  another  is  rooting  up  my 


220  POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

strawberries,  to  put  in  pursley;  and  another  is 
destroying  my  currants,  and  gooseberries,  and  rasp- 
berries, to  plant  mustard  and  Jamestown  weed.  At 
last,  I  lose  all  patience>  and  cry  out,  "  Well,  gentle- 
men, this  will  never  do.  I  will  never  tolerate  this 
abominable  imposition;  you  are  ruining  my  gar- 
den." One  of  them  says,  "  You  old  hypocritical 
bigot !  do  mind  your  business,  and  let  us  enjoy  our- 
selves. Take  care  of  your  house,  and  do  not  pry 
into  our  pleasures." 

Fellow-citizens !  I  own  that  no  man  could  so 
invade  your  garden ;  but  men  are  allowed  thus  to 
invade  our  town,  and  destroy  our  children.  You 
will  let  them  evade  your  laws,  to  fleece  and  demor- 
alize you ;  and  you  sit  down  under  their  railing,  as 
though  you  were  the  intruders  ! — just  as  if  the  man, 
who  drives  a  thief  out  of  his  house,  ought  to  ask  the 
rascal's  pardon  for  interfering  with  his  little  plans  of 
pleasure  and  profit ! 

Every  parent  has  a  right — every  citizen  and 
every  minister  has  the  same  right,  to  expose  traps, 
which  men  have  to  set  them ;  the  same  right  to  pre- 
vent mischief,  which  men  have  to  plot  it ;  the  same 
right  to  attack  vice,  which  vice  has  to  attack  vir- 
tue; a  better  right  to  save  our  sons  and  brothers, 
and  companions,  than  artful  men  have  to  destroy 
them. 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  221 

The  necessity  of  amusement,  is  admitted  on  all 
hands.  There  is  an  appetite  of  the  eye,  of  the  ear, 
and  of  every  sense,  for  which  God  has  provided  the 
material.  Gaiety  of  every  degree,  this  side  of  pue- 
rile levity,  is  wholesome  to  the  body,  to  the  mind, 
and  to  the  morals.  Nature  is  a  vast  repository  of 
manly  enjoyments.  The  magnitude  of  God's  works 
is  not  less  admirable  than  its  exhilarating  beauty. 
The  rudest  forms  have  something  of  beauty;  the 
ruggedest  strength  is  graced  with  some  charm;  the 
very  pins,  and  rivets,  and  clasps  of  nature,  are 
attractive  by  qualities  of  beauty  more  than  is  neces- 
sary for  mere  utility.  The  sun  could  go  down 
without  gorgeous  clouds;  evening  could  advance 
without  its  evanescent  brilliance;  trees  might  have 
flourished  without  symmetry ;  flowers  have  existed 
without  odor,  and  fruit  without  flavor.  When  I 
have  journeyed  through  forests,  where  ten  thousand 
shrubs  and  vines  exist  without  apparent  use; 
through  prairies,  whose  undulations  exhibit  sheets 
of  flowers  innumerable,  and  absolutely  dazzling  the 
eye  with  their  prodigality  of  beauty — beauty,  not  a 
tithe  of  which  is  ever  seen  by  man — I  have  said,  it 
is  plain  that  God  is  himself  passionately  fond  of 
beauty,  and  the  earth  is  his  garden,  as  an  acrt  is 
man's.  God  has  made  us  like  Himself,  to  be  pleased 
by  the  universal  beauty  of  the  world.  He  has  made 
19* 


222  POPULAR   AMUSEMENTS. 

provision  in  nature,  in  society,  and  in  the  family,  for 
amusement  and  exhilaration  enough  to  fill  the  heart 
with  the  perpetual  sunshine  of  delight. 

Upon  this  broad  earth,  purfled  with  flowers, 
scented  with  odors,  brilliant  in  colors,  vocal  with 
echoing  and  re-echoing  melody,  I  take  my  stand 
against  all  demoralizing  pleasure.  Is  it  not  enough 
that  our  Father's  house  is  so  full  of  dear  delights, 
that  we  must  wander  prodigal  to  the  swine-herd  for 
husks,  and  to  the  slough  for  drink  ? — when  the  trees 
of  God's  heritage  bend  over  our  head,  and  solicit 
our  hand  to  pluck  the  golden  fruitage,  must  we  still 
go  in  search  of  the  apples  of  Sodom — outside  fair, 
and  inside  ashes  ? 

Men  shall  crowd  to  the  Circus  to  hear  clowns, 
and  see  rare  feats  of  horsemanship  ;  but  a  bird  may 
poise  beneath  the  very  sun,  or  flying  downward, 
swoop  from  the  high  heaven ;  then  flit  with  graceful 
ease  hither  and  thither,  pouring  liquid  song  as  if  it 
were  a  perennial  fountain  of  sound — no  man  cares 
for  that. 

Upon  the  stage  of  life,  the  vastest  tragedies  are 
performing  in  every  act ;  nations  pitching  headlong 
to  their  final  catastrophe ;  others,  raising  their  youth- 
ful forms  to  begin  the  drama  of  their  existence. 
The  world  of  society  is  as  full  of  exciting  interest, 
as  nature  is  full  of  beauty.     The   great  dramatic 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  223 

throng  of  life  is  hustling  along — the  wise,  the  fool, 
the  clown,  the  miser,  the  bereaved,  the  broken- 
hearted. Life  mingles  before  us  smiles  and  tears, 
sighs  and  laughter,  joy  and  gloom,  as  the  spring 
mingles  the  winter-storm  and  summer-sunshine.  To 
this  vast  Theatre  which  God  hath  builded,  where 
stranger  plays  are  seen  than  ever  author  writ,  man 
seldom  cares  to  come.  When  God  dramatizes,  when 
nations  act,  or  all  the  human  kind  conspire  to  educe 
the  vast  catastrophe,  men  sleep  and  snore,  and  let 
the  busy  scene  go  on,  unlooked,  unthought  upon; 
and  turn  from  all  its  varied  magnificence  to  hunt 
out  some  candle-lighted  hole  and  gaze  at  drunken 
ranters,  or  cry  at  the  piteous  virtue  of  harlots  in  dis- 
tress. It  is  my  object  then,  not  to  withdraw  the 
young  from  pleasure,  but  from  unworthy  pleasures ; 
not  to  lessen  their  enjoyments,  but  to  increase  them, 
by  rejecting  the  counterfeit  and  the  vile. 

Of  gambling,  I  have  already  sufficiently  spoken. 
Of  cock-fighting,  bear-baiting,  and  pugilistic  con- 
tests, I  need  to  speak  but  little.  These  are  the  des- 
perate excitements  of  debauched  men ;  but  no  man 
becomes  desperately  criminal,  until  he  has  been 
genteelly  criminal.  No  one  spreads  his  sail  upon 
such  waters,  at  first ;  these  brutal  amusements  are 
but  the  gulf  into  which  flow  all  the  streams  of  crim- 
inal pleasures ;  and  they  who  embark  upon  the  river, 


224  POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

are  sailing  toward  the  gulf.  Wretches  who  have 
waded  all  the  depths  of  iniquity,  and  burned  every 
passion  to  the  socket,  find  in  rage  and  blows  and 
blood,  the  only  stimulus  of  which  they  are  suscep- 
tible. You  are  training  yourselves  to  be  just  such 
wretches,  if  you  are  exhausting  your  passions  in 
illicit  indulgences. 

As  it  is  impossible  to  analyze,  separately,  each 
vicious  amusement  proffered  to  the  young,  I  am 
compelled  to  select  two,  each  the  representative  of  a 
clan.  Thus,  the  reasonings  applied  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  Racing,  apply  equally  well  to  all  violent 
amusements  which  congregate  indolent  and  dissi- 
pated men,  by  ministering  intense  excitement.  The 
reasonings  applied  to  the  Theatre,  with  some  modi- 
fications, apply  to  the  Circus,  to  promiscuous  balls, 
to  night-revelling,  bacchanalian  feasts,  and  to  other 
similar  indulgences. 

Many,  who  are  not  in  danger,  may  incline  to  turn 
from  these  pages;  they  live  in  rural  districts,  in 
villages,  or  towns,  and  are  out  of  the  reach  of 
jockeys,  and  actors,  and  gamblers.  This  is  the  very 
reason  why  you  should  read.  We  are  such  a  mi- 
gratory, restless  people,  that  our  home  is  usually 
everywhere  but  at  home;  and  almost  every  young 
man  makes  annual,  or  biennial  visits  to  famous 
cities;  conveying  produce  to  market,  or  purchasing 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  225 

wares  and  goods.  It  is  at  such  times  that  the  young 
are  in  extreme  danger ;  for  they  are  particularly 
anxious,  at  such  times,  to  appear  at  their  full  age. 
A  young  man  is  ashamed,  in  a  great  hotel,  to  seem 
raw  and  not  to  know  the  mysteries  of  the  har  and 
of  the  town.  They  put  on  a  very  remarkable  air, 
which  is  meant  for  ease;  they  affect  profusion  of 
expense ;  they  think  it  meet  for  a  gentleman  to 
know  all  that  certain  other  city-gentlemen  seem 
proud  of  knowing.  As  sober  citizens  are  not  found 
lounging  at  Hotels ;  and  the  gentlemanly  part  of 
the  travelling  community  are  usually  retiring,  mod- 
est, and  unnoticeable, — the  young  are  left  to  come  in 
contact  chiefly  with  a  very  flash  class  of  men  who 
swarm  about  city-Restaurateurs  and  Hotels, — swoln 
clerks,  crack  sportsmen,  epicures,  and  rich,  green 
youth,  seasoning.  These  are  the  most  numerous 
class  which  engage  the  attention  of  the  young. 
They  bustle  in  the  sitting  room,  or  crowd  the  bar, 
assume  the  chief  seats  at  the  table,  and  play  the  petty 
lord  in  a  manner  so  brilliant,  as  altogether  to  dazzle 
our  poor  country  boy.  who  mourns  at  his  deficient 
education,  at  the  poverty  of  his  rural  oaths,  and  the 
meagerness  of  those  illicit  pleasures,  which  he  for- 
merly nibbled  at  with  mouselike  stealth;  and  he 
sighs  for  these  riper  accomplishments.  Besides,  it 
is  well  known,  that  large  commercial  establishments 


226  POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

have,  residing  at  such  hotels,  well  appointed  clerks 
to  draw  customers  to  their  counter.  It  is  their  busi- 
ness to  make  your  acquaintance,  to  fish  out  the 
probable  condition  of  your  funds,  to  sweeten  your 
temper  with  delicate  tit-bits  of  pleasure;  to  take 
you  to  the  Theatre,  and  a  little  furthei*  on,  if  need 
be ;  to  draw  you  in  to  a  generous  supper,  and  initiate 
you  to  the  high  life  of  men  whose  whole  life  is  only 
the  varied  phases  of  lust,  gastronomical  or  amorous. 

Besides  these,  there  lurk  in  such  places  lynx-eyed 
procurers ;  men  who  have  an  interest  in  your  appe- 
tites ;  who  look  upon  a  young  man,  with  some 
money,  just  as  a  butcher  looks  upon  a  bullock — a 
thing  of  so  many  pounds  avoirdupois,  of  so  much 
beef,  so  much  tallow,  and  a  hide.  If  you  have  no- 
thing, they  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  you  ;  if  you 
have  means,  they  undertake  to  supply  you  with  the 
disposition  to  use  them.  They  know  the  city,  they 
know  its  haunts,  they  know  its  secret  doors,  its 
blind  passages,  its  spicy  pleasures,  its  racy  vices, 
clear  down  to  the  mud-slime  of  the  very  bottom. 

Meanwhile,  the  accustomed  restraint  of  home  cast 
off,  the  youth  feels  that  he  is  unknown,  and  may 
do  what  he  chooses,  unexposed.  There  is,  moreover, 
an  intense  curiosity  to  see  many  things  of  which 
he  has  long  ago  heard  and  wondered;  and  it  is 
the  very  art  and  education  of  vice,  to  make  itself 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  227 

attractive.  It  comes  with  garlands  of  roses  about 
its  brow,  with  nectar  in  its  goblet,  and  love  upon  its 
tongue. 

If  you  have,  beforehand,  no  settled  opinions  as  to 
what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong ;  if  your  judgment 
is  now,  for  the  first  time,  to  be  formed  upon  the 
propriety  of  your  actions ;  if  you  are  not  controlled 
by  settled  principles,  there  is  scarcely  a  chance  for 
your  purity. 

For  this  purpose,  then,  I  desire  to  discuss  these 
things,  that  you  may  settle  your  opinions  and  prin- 
ciples before  temptation  assails  you..  As  a  ship  is 
built  upon  the  dry  shore,  which  afterwards  is  to  dare 
the  storm  and  brave  the  sea,  so  would  I  build  you 
staunch  and  strong,  ere  you  be  launched  abroad 
upon  life. 

I.  Racing.  This  amusement  justifies  its  exist- 
ence by  the  plea  of  utility.  We  will  examine  it 
upon  its  own  ground.  Who  are  the  patrons  of  the 
Turf? — farmers? — laborers? — men  who  are  practi- 
cally the  most  interested  in  the  improvement  of 
stock?  The  unerring  instinct  of  self-interest  would 
lead  these  men  to  patronize  the  Course,  if  its  utility 
were  real.  It  is  notorious  that  these  are  not  the 
patrons  of  racing.  It  is  sustained  by  two  classes  of 
men — gambling  jockeys  and  jaded  rich  men.  In 
England,  and  in  our  own  country,  where  the  turf- 


228  POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

sports  are  freshest,  they  owe  their  existence  entirely 
to  the  extraordinary  excitement  which  they  afford 
to  dissipation,  or  to  cloyed  appetites.  For  those 
industrial  purposes  for  which  the  horse  is  chiefly 
valuable,  for  roadsters,  hacks,  and  cart-horses,  what 
do  the  patrons  of  the  turf  care  ?  Their  whole  anx- 
iety is  centred  upon  winning  cups  and  stakes ;  and 
that  is  incomparably  the  best  blood  which  will  run 
the  longest  space  in  the  shortest  time.  The  points 
required  for  this  are  not^  and  never  will  be,  the  points 
for  substantial  service.  And  it  is  notorious,  that 
racing  in  England  deteriorated  the  stock  in  such 
important  respects,  that  the  light-cavalry  and  dra- 
goon-service suffered  severely,  until  dependence 
upon  turf  stables  was  abandoned.  New  England, 
where  racing  is  unknown,  is  to  this  day  the  place 
where  the  horse  exists  in  the  finest  qualities ;  and 
for  all  economical  purposes,  Virginia  and  Kentucky 
must  yield  to  New  England.  Except  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  racing,  an  eastern  horse  brings  a  higher 
price  than  any  other. 

The  other  class  of  patrons  who  sustain  a  Course 
are  mere  gambling  jockeys.  As  crows  to  a  corn- 
field, or  vultures  to  their  prey;  as  flics  to  summer- 
sweet,  so  to  the  annual  races,  flow  the  whole  tribe 
of  gamesters  and  pleasure-lovers.  It  is  the  Jerusa- 
lem of  wicked  men :   and   thither  the  tribes  go  up, 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  229 

like  Israel  of  old,  but  for  a  far  different  sacrifice. 
No  form  of  social  abomination  is  unknown  or  un- 
practised ;  and  if  all  the  good  that  is  claimed,  and  a 
hundred  times  more,  were  done  to  horses,  it  would 
be  a  dear  bargain.  To  ruin  men  for  the  sake  of  im- 
proving horses;  to  sacrifice  conscience  and  purity 
for  the  sake  of  good  bones  and  muscles  in  a  beast ; 
this  is  paying  a  little  too  much  for  good  brutes.  In- 
deed, the  shameless  immorality,  the  perpetual  and 
growing  dishonesty,  the  almost  immeasurable  secret 
villany  of  gentlemen  of  the  turf,  has  alarmed  and 
disgusted  many  stalwart  racers,  who,  having  no 
objection  to  some  evil,  are  appalled  at  the  very 
ocean  of  depravity  which  rolls  before  them.  1  ex- 
tract the  words  of  one  of  the  leading  sportsmen 
of  England.  "  How  many  fine  domains  have  been 
shared  among  these  hosts  of  rapacious  sharks,  dur- 
ing the  last  tivo  hundred  years ;  and,  unless  the  sys- 
tem be  altered,  how  many  more  are  doomed  to  fall 
into  the  same  gulf !  For,  we  lament  to  say,  the  evil 
has  increased :  all  heretofore  has  been  l  tarts  and 
cheese-cakes'  to  the  villanous  proceedings  of  the  last 
twenty  years  on  the  English  turf" 

I  will  drop  this  barbarous  amusement,  with  a  few 
questions. 

What  have  you,  young  men,  to  do  with  the  turf, 
admitting  it  to  be  what  it  claims,  a  school  for  horses  ? 
20 


230  POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

Are  you  particularly  interested  in  that  branch  of 
learning? 

Is  it  safe  to  accustom  yourselves  to  such  tremen- 
dous excitement  as  that  of  racing  ? 

Is  the  invariable  company  of  such  places  of  a  kind 
which  you  ought  to  be  found  in  7 — will  races  make 
you  more  moral? — more  industrious? — more  care- 
ful ? — economical  ? — trustworthy  ? 

You  who  have  attended  them,  what  advice  would 
you  give  a  young  man,  a  younger  brother  for  in- 
stance, who  should  seriously  ask  if  he  had  better 
attend  ? 

I  digress  to  say  one  word  to  women.  When  a 
Course  was  opened  at  Cincinnati,  ladies  would  not 
attend  it :  when  one  was  opened  here,  ladies  would 
not  attend  it :  For  very  good  reasons — they  were 
ladies.  If  it  be  said  that  they  attend  the  Races  at 
the  South  and  in  England,  I  reply,  that  they  do  a 
great  many  other  things  which  you  would  not 
choose  to  do. 

Roman  ladies  could  see  hundreds  of  gladiators  stab 
and  hack  each  other — could  you  ?  Spanish  ladies 
can  see  savage  bull-fights — would  you?  It  is  pos- 
sible for  a  modest  woman  to  countenance  very  ques- 
tionable practices,  where  the  customs  of  society  and 
the  universal  public  opinion  approve  them.  But 
no  woman  can  set  herself  against   public  opinion, 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  231 

in  favor  of  an  immoral  sport,  without  being  herself 
immoral ;  for,  if  worse  be  wanting,  it  is  immorality- 
enough  for  a  woman  to  put  herself  where  her  repu- 
tation will  lose  its  suspiciousless  lustre. 

II.  The  Theatre.  Desperate  efforts  are  made, 
year  by  year,  to  resuscitate  this  expiring  evil.  Its 
claims  are  put  forth  with  vehemence.  Let  us  exam- 
ine them. 

The  drama  cultivates  the  taste.  Let  the  appeal  be 
to  facts.  Let  the  roll  of  English  literature  be  ex- 
plored— our  Poets,  Romancers,  Historians,  Essayists, 
Critics,  and  Divines — and  for  what  part  of  their 
memorable  writings  are  we  indebted  to  the  Drama  1 
If  we  except  one  period'of  our  literature,  the  claim 
is  wholly  groundless ;  and  at  this  day,  the  truth  is 
so  opposite  to  the  claim,  that  extravagance,  affecta- 
tion, and  rant,  are  proverbially  denominated  theaU 
rical.  If  agriculture  should  attempt  to  supersede 
the  admirable  implements  of  husbandry,  now  in  use, 
by  the  primitive  plough  or  sharpened  sticks,  it  would 
not  be  more  absurd  than  to  advocate  that  clumsy 
machine  of  literature,  the  Theatre,  by  the  side  of 
the  popular  lecture,  the  pulpit,  and  the  press.  It  is 
not  congenial  to  our  age  or  necessities.  Its  day  is 
gone  by — it  is  in  its  dotage,  as  might  be  suspected, 
from  the  weakness  of  the  garrulous  apologies  which 
it  puts  forth. 


232  POPULAR   AMUSEMENTS. 

It  is  a  school  of  morals. — Yes,  doubtless  !  So 
the  guillotine  is  defended  on  the  plea  of  humanity. 
Inquisitors  declare  their  racks  and  torture-beds  to  be 
the  instruments  of  love,  affectionately  admonishing 
the  fallen  of  the  error  of  their  ways.  The  slave- 
trade  has  been  defended  on  the  plea  of  humanity, 
and  slavery  is  now  defended  for  its  mercies.  Were 
it  necessary  for  any  school  or  party,  doubtless  we 
should  hear  arguments  to  prove  the  Devil's  grace, 
and  the  utility  of  his  agency  among  men. 

But,  let  me  settle  these  impudent  pretensions  to 
Theatre-virtue,  by  the  home  thrust  of  a  few  plain 
questions. 

Will  any  of  you  who  have  been  to  Theatres, 
please  to  tell  me  whether  virtue  ever  received  impor- 
tant accessions  from  the  gallery  of  Theatres  ? 

Will  you  tell  me  whether  the  Pit  is  a  place  where 
an  ordinarily  modest  man  would  love  to  seat  his 
children? 

Was  ever  a  Theatre  known  where  a  prayer  at 
the  opening,  and  a-prayer  at  the  close,  would  not  be 
tormentingly  discordant? 

How  does  it  happen,  that  in  a  school  for  morals, 
the  teachers  never  learn  their  own  lessons  ? 

Would  you  allow  a  son  or  daughter  to  associate 
alone  with  actors  or  actresses  ? 

Do  these  men  who  promote  virtue  so  zealously 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  233 

token  acting,  take  any  part  in  public  moral  enter- 
prises, when  their  stage  dresses  are  off? 

Which  would  surprise  you  most,  to  see  actors 
steadily  at  Church,  or  to  see  Christians  steadily  at  a 
Theatre?  Would  not  both  strike  you  as  singular 
incongruities  ? 

What  is  the  reason  that  loose  and  abandoned  men 
abhor  religion  in  a  Church,  and  love  it  so  much  in  a 
Theatre? 

Since  the  Theatre  is  the  handmaid  of  virtue,  why 
are  drinking  houses  so  necessary  to  its  neighbor- 
hood, yet  so  offensive  to  Churches'2  The  trustees 
of  the  Tremont  Theatre  in  Boston,  publicly  protested 
against  an  order  of  coifhcil  forbidding  liquor  to  be 
sold  on  the  premises,  on  the  ground  that  it  was 
impossible  to  support  the  Theatre  without  it. 

I  am  told  that  Christians  do  attend  the  Theatres. 
Then  I  will  tell  them  the  story  of  the  Ancients.  A 
holy  monk  reproached  the  devil  for  stealing  a  young 
man  who  was  found  at  the  Theatre.  He  promptly 
replied,  "I  found  him  on  my  premises,  and  took 
him." 

But,  it  is  said,  if  Christians  would  take  Theatres 
in  hand,  instead  of  abandoning  them  to  loose  men, 
they  might  become  the  handmaids  of  religion. 

The  Church  has  had  an  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  Theatre  for  eighteen  hundred  years.  Dur- 
20* 


234  POPULAR   AMUSEMENTS. 

ing  that  period,  every  available  agent  for  the  diffu- 
sion of  morality  has  been  earnestly  tried.  The 
Drama  has  been  tried.  The  result  is,  that  familiar- 
ity has  bred  contempt  and  abhorrence.  If,  after  so 
long  and  thorough  an  acquaintance,  the  Church 
stands  the  mortal  enemy  of  Theatres,  the  testimony 
is  conclusive.  It  is  the  evidence  of  generations 
speaking  by  the  most  sober,  thinking,  and  honest 
men.  Let  not  this  vagabond  prostitute  pollute  any 
longer  the  precincts  of  the  Church,  with  impudent 
proposals  of  alliance.  When  the  Church  needs  an 
alliance  it  will  not  look  for  it  in  the  kennel.  Ah  ! 
what  a  blissful  scene  would  that  be — the  Church 
and  Theatre  imparadised  in  each  other's  arms ! 
What  a  sweet  conjunction  would  be  made,  could  we 
build  our  Churches  so  as  to  preach  in  the  morning, 
and  play  in  them  by  night !  And  how  melting  it 
would  be,  beyond  the  love  of  David  and  Jonathan, 
to  see  minister  and  actor  in  loving  embrace;  one 
slaying  Satan  by  direct  thrusts  of  plain  preaching, 
and  the  other  sucking  his  very  life  out  by  the  en- 
chantment of  the  Drama  !  To  this  millennial  scene 
of  Church  and  Theatre,  I  only  suggest  a  single 
improvement :  that  the  vestry  be  enlarged  to  a  ring 
for  a  Circus,  when  not  wanted  for  prayer-meetings  ; 
that  the  Sabbath-school  room  should  be  furnished 
with  card-tables,  and  useful  texts  of  scripture  might 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  235 

be  printed  on  the  cards,  for  the  pious  meditations  of 
gamblers  during  the  intervals  of  play  and  worship. 

But  if  these  places  are  put  down,  men  will  go  to 
worse  ones.  Where  will  they  find  worse  ones  ?  Are 
those  who  go  to  the  Theatre,  the  Circus,  the  Race- 
course, the  men  who  abstain  from  worse  places? 
It  is  notorious  that  the  crowd  of  theatre-goers  are 
vomited  up  from  these  worse  places.  It  is  noto- 
rious that  the  Theatre  is  the  door  to  all  the  sinks  of 
iniquity.  It  is  through  this  infamous  place  that  the 
young  learn  to  love  those  vicious  associates  and 
practices  to  which,  else,  they  would  have  been 
strangers.  Half  the  victims  of  the  gallows  and  of 
the  Penitentiary  will  tell  you,  that  these  schools  for 
morals  were  to  them  the  gate  of  debauchery,  the 
porch  of  pollution,  the  vestibule  of  the  very  house 
of  Death. 

The  Drama  makes  one  acquainted  with  human 
life,  and  with  nature.  It  is  too  true.  There  is 
scarcely  an  evil  incident  to  human  life,  which  may 
not  be  fully  learned  at  the  Theatre.  Here  flourishes 
every  variety  of  wit — ridicule  of  sacred  things, 
burlesques  of  religion,  and  licentious  double-enten- 
dres.  Nowhere  can  so  much  of  this  lore  be  learned, 
in  so  short  a  time,  as  at  the  Theatre.  There  one 
learns  how  pleasant  a  thing  is  vice;  amours  are 
consecrated ;    license  is  prospered ;    and   the  young 


236  POPULAR   AMUSEMENTS. 

come  away  alive  to  the  glorious  liberty  of  conquest 
and  lust.  But  the  stage  is  not  the  only  place  about 
the  Drama  where  human  nature  is  learned.  In  the 
Boxes  the  young  may  make  the  acquaintance  of 
those  who  abhor  home  and  domestic  quiet ;  of  those 
who  glory  in  profusion  and  obtrusive  display:  of 
those  who  expend  all,  and  more  than  their  earnings, 
upon  gay  clothes  and  jewelry ;  of  those  who  think 
it  no  harm  to  borrow  their  money  without  leave  from 
their  employer's  till;  of  those  who  despise  vulgar 
appetite,  but  affect  polished  and  genteel  licentious- 
ness. Or,  he  may  go  to  the  Pit,  and  learn  the 
whole  round  of  villain-life,  from  masters  in  the  art. 
He  may  sit  down  among  thieves,  blood-loving 
scoundrels,  swindlers,  broken-down  men  of  plea- 
sure^— the  coarse,  the  vulgar,  the  debauched,  the 
inhuman,  the  infernal.  Or,  if  still  more  of  human 
nature  is  wished,  he  can  learn  yet  more;  for  the 
Theatre  epitomizes  every  degree  of  corruption.  Let 
the  virtuous  young  scholar  go  to  the  Gallery,  and 
learn  there,  decency  modesty,  and  refinement,  among 
the  quarrelling,  drunken,  ogling,  mincing,  brutal 
women  of  the  brothel !  Ah  !  there  is  no  place  like 
the  Theatre  for  learning  human  nature  !  A  young 
man  can  gather  up  more  experimental  knowledge 
here  in  a  week,  than  elsewhere  in  half  a  year.  But 
I  wonder  that  the  Drama  should  ever  confess  the 


POPULAR   AMUSEMENTS.  237 

fact;  and  yet  more,  that  it  should  lustily  plead  in 
self-defence,  that  Theatres  teach  men  so  much  of 
human  nature !  Here  are  brilliant  bars,  to  teach 
the  young  to  drink ;  here  are  gay  companions,  to 
undo  in  half  an  hour  the  scruples  formed  by  an 
education  of  years ;  here  are  pimps  of  pleasure,  to 
delude  the  brain  with  bewildering  sophisms  of 
license;  here  is  pleasure,  all  flushed  in  its  gayest, 
boldest,  most  fascinating  forms ;  and  few  there  be 
who  can  resist  its  wiles,  and  fewer  yet  who  can 
yield  to  them  and  escape  ruin.  If  you  would  per- 
vert the  taste — go  to  the  Theatre.  If  you  would 
imbibe  false  views — go  to  the  Theatre.  If  you 
would  efface  as  speedily  as  possible  all  qualms  of 
conscience — go  to  the  Theatre.  If  you  would  put 
yourself  irreconcilably  against  the  spirit  of  virtue 
and  religion — go  to  the  Theatre.  If  you  would  be 
infected  with  each  particular  vice  in  the  catalogue 
of  Depravity — go  to  the  Theatre.  Let  parents,  who 
wish  to  make  their  children  weary  of  home  and 
quiet  domestic  enjoyments,  take  them  to  the  Theatre. 
If  it  be  desirable  for  the  young  to  loathe  industry 
and  didactic  reading,  and  burn  for  fierce  excitements, 
and  seek  them  by  stealth  or  through  pilferings,  if 
need  be — then  send  them  to  the  Theatre.  It  is  noto- 
rious that  the  bill  of  fare  at  these  temples  of  pleasure 
is  made  up  to  the  taste  of  the  lower  appetites ;  that 


238  POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

low  comedy,  and  lower  farce,  running  into  absolute 
obscenity,  are  the  only  means  of  filling  a  house. 
Theatres  which  should  exhibit  nothing  but  the 
classic  Drama,  would  exhibit  it  to  empty  seats. 
They  must  be  corrupt,  to  live ;  and  those  who  attend 
them  will  be  corrupted. 

Let  me  turn  your  attention  to  several  reasons 
which  should  incline  every  young  man  to  forswear 
such  criminal  amusements. 

I.  The  first  reason  is,  their  waste  of  time.  I  do 
not  mean  that  they  waste  only  the  time  consumed 
while  you  are  within  them;  but  they  make  you 
waste  your  time  afterwards.  You  will  go  once,  and 
wish  to  go  again ;  you  will  go  twice,  and  seek  it  a 
third  time ;  you  will  go  a  third  time, — a  fourth ;  and 
whenever  the  bill  flames,  you  will  be  seized  with  a 
restlessness  and  craving  to  go,  until  the  appetite 
will  become  a  passion.  You  will  then  waste  your 
nights :  your  mornings  being  heavy,  melancholy, 
and  stupid,  you  will  waste  them.  Your  day  will 
next  be  confused  and  crowded  :  your  duties  poorly 
executed  or  deferred ;  habits  of  arrant  shiftlessness 
will  ensue ;  and  day  by  day,  industry  will  grow 
tiresome,  and  leisure  sweeter,  until  you  are  a  waster 
of  time — an  idle  man  ;  and  if  not  a  rogue,  you  will 
be  a  fortunate  exception. 

II.  You  ought  not  to  countenance  these  things, 


POPULAR   AMUSEMENTS.  239 

because  they  will  waste  your  money.  Young  gentle- 
men !  squandering  is  as  shameful  as  hoarding.  A 
fool  can  throw  away,  and  a  fool  can  lock  up ;  but  it 
is  a  wise  man,  who,  neither  parsimonious  nor  pro- 
fuse, steers  the  middle  course  of  generous  economy 
and  frugal  liberality.  A  young  man,  at  first,  thinks 
that  all  he  spends  at  such  places,  is  the  ticket-price 
of  the  Theatre,  or  the  small  bet  on  the  races ;  and 
this  he  knows  is  not  much.  But  this  is  certainly  not 
the  whole  bill — nor  half. 

First,  you  pay  your  entrance.  But  there  are  a 
thousand  petty  luxuries  which  one  must  not  neglect, 
or  custom  will  call  him  niggard.  You  must  buy 
your  cigars,  and  your  friend's.  You  must  buy  your 
juleps,  and  treat  in  your  turn.  You  must  occasion- 
ally wait  on  your  lady,  and  she  must  be  comforted 
with  divers  confections.  You  cannot  go  to  such 
places  in  homely  working  dress;  new  and  costlier 
clothes  must  be  bought.  All  your  companions  have 
jewelry, — you  will  want  a  ring,  or  a  seal,  or  a  golden 
watch,  or  an  ebony  cane,  a  silver  toothpick,  or  quiz- 
zing glass.  Thus,  item  presses  upon  item,  and  in 
the  year  a  long  bill  runs  up  of  money  spent  for  little 
trifles. 

But  if  all  this  money  could  buy  you  off  from  the 
yet  worse  effects,  the  bargain  would  not  be  so  dear. 
But  compare,  if  you  please,  this  mode  of  expendi- 


240  POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

ture  with  the  principle  of  your  ordinary  expense. 
In  all  ordinary  and  business- transactions  you  get  an 
equivalent  for  your  money, — either  food  for  support. 
or  clothes  for  comfort,  or  permanent  property.  But 
when  a  young  man  has  spent  one  or  two  hundred 
dollars  for  the  Theatre,  Circus,  Races,  Balls,  and 
revelling,  what  has  he  to  show  for  it  at  the  end  of 
the  year?  Nothing  at  all  good,  and  much  that  is 
bad.  You  sink  your  money  as  really  as  if  you 
threw  it  into  the  sea ;  and  you  do  it  in  such  a  way 
that  you  form  habits  of  careless  expense.  You  lose 
all  sense  of  the  value  of  property  ;  and  when  a  man 
sees  no  value  in  property,  he  will  see  no  necessity 
for  labor ;  and  when  he  is  lazy,  and  careless  of  prop- 
erty, both,  he  will  be  dishonest.  Thus,  a  habit 
which  seems  innocent — the  habit  of  trifling  with 
property — often  degenerates  to  worthlessness,  indo- 
lence, and  roguery. 

III.  Such  pleasures  are  incompatible  with  your 
ordinary  pursuits. 

The  very  way  to  ruin  an  honest  business  is  to  be 
ashamed  of  it,  or  to  put  alongside  of  it  something 
which  a  man  loves  better.  There  can  be  no  indus- 
trial calling  so  exciting  as  the  Theatre,  the  Circus, 
and  the  Races.  If  you  wish  to  make  your  real 
business  very  stupid  and  hateful,  visit  such  places. 
After  the  glare  of  the  Theatre   has   dazzled  your 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  241 

eyes,  your  blacksmith-shop  will  look  smuttier  than 
ever  it  did  before.  After  you  have  seen  stalwart 
heroes  pounding  their  antagonists,  you  will  find  it  a 
dull  business  to  pound  iron ;  and  a  valiant  appren- 
tice who  has  seen  such  gracious  glances  of  love  and 
such  rapturous  kissing  of  hands,  will  hate  to  dirty 
his  heroic  fingers  with  mortar,  or  by  rolling  felt 
on  the  hatter's  board.  If  a  man  had  a  homely,  but 
most  useful  wife — patient,  kind,  intelligent,  hopeful 
in  sorrow,  and  cheerful  in  prosperity,  but  yet  very 
plain,  very  homely, — would  he  be  wise  to  bring 
under  his  roof  a  fascinating  and  artful  beauty? 
would  the  contrast,  and  her  wiles,  make  him  love 
his  own  wife  better?  Young  gentlemen,  your  wives 
are  your  industrial  callings?  These  raree-shows 
are  artful  jades,  dressed  up  on  purpose  to  purloin 
your  affections.  Let  no  man  be  led  to  commit 
adultery  with  a  Theatre,  against  the  rights  of  his 
own  trade. 

IV.  Another  reason  why  you  should  let  alone 
these  deceitful  pleasures  is,  that  they  will  engage 
you  in  bad  company.  To  the  Theatre,  the  Ball, 
the  Circus,  the  Race-course,  the  gaming-table,  resort 
all  the  idle,  the  dissipated,  the  rogues,  the  licen- 
tious, the  epicures,  the  gluttons,  the  artful  jades, 
the  immodest  prudes,  the  joyous,  the  worthless,  the 
refuse.  When  you  go,  you  will  not,  at  first,  take 
21 


242  POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

introduction  to  them  all,  but  to  those  nearest  like 
yourself;  by  them  the  way  will  be  opened  to  others. 
And  a  very  great  evil  has  befallen  a  young  man, 
when  wicked  men  feel  that  they  have  a  right  to 
his  acquaintance.  When  I  see  a  gambler  slapping 
a  young  mechanic  on  the  back;  or  a  lecherous 
scoundrel  suffusing  a  young  man's  cheek  by  a  story 
at  which,  despite  his  blushes,  he  yet  laughs ;  I 
know  the  youth  has  been  guilty  of  criminal  indis- 
cretion, or  these  men  could  not  approach  him  thus. 
That  is  a  brave  and  strong  heart  that  can  stand  up 
pure  in  a  company  of  artful  wretches.  When 
wicked  men  mean  to  seduce  a  young  man,  so  tre- 
mendous are  the  odds  in  favor  of  practiced  expe- 
rience against  innocence,  that  there  is  not  one  chance 
in  a  thousand,  if  the  young  man  lets  them  approach 
him.  Let  every  young  man  remember  that  he  car- 
ries, by  nature,  a  breast  of  passions  just  such  as  bad 
men  have.  With  youth  they  slumber;  but  tempta- 
tion can  wake  them,  bad  men  can  influence  them ; 
they  know  the  road,  they  know  how  to  serenade 
the  heart;  how  to  raise  the  sash,  and  elope  with 
each  passion.  There  is  but  one  resource  for  inno- 
cence among  men  or  women;  and  that  is,  an  em- 
bargo upon  all  commerce  of  bad  men.  Bar  the 
window  ! — bolt  the  door  ! — nor  answer  their  strain, 
if  they  charm  never  so  wisely !   In  no  other  way  can 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  243 

you  be  safe.  So  well  am  I  assured  of  the  power  of 
bad  men  to  seduce  the  erring  purity  of  man,  that  I 
pronounce  it  next  to  impossible  for  man  or  woman 
to  escape,  if  they  permit  bad  men  to  approach  and 
dally  with  them.  Oh !  there  is  more  than  magic  in 
temptation,  when  it  beams  down  upon  the  heart  of 
man,  like  the  sun  upon  a  morass !  At  the  noon- 
tide-hour of  purity,  the  mists  shall  rise  and  wreath 
a  thousand  fantastic  forms  of  delusion;  and^a_sudden 
freak  of  passion,  a  single  gleam  of  the  imagination, 
one  sudden  rush  of  the  capricious  heart,  and  the 
resistance  of  years  majyjbe  prostrated  in  a  moment, 
the  heart  entered  by  the  besieging  enemy,  its  rooms 
sought  out,  and  every  lovely  affection  rudely  seized 
by  the  invader's  lust,  and  given  to  ravishment  and 
to  ruin  ! 

V.  Putting  together  in  one  class,  all  gamblers, 
circus-riders,  actors  and  racing  jockeys,  I  pronounce 
them  to  be  men  who  live  off  of  society  without 
returning  any  useful  equivalent  for  their  support. 
At  the  most  lenient  sentence,  they  are  a  band  of  gay 
idlers.  They  do  not  throw  one  cent  into  the  stock 
of  public  good.  They  do  not  make  shoes,  or  hats, 
or  houses,  or  harness,  or  anything  else  that  is 
useful.  A  hostler  is  useful ;  he  performs  a  neces- 
sary office.  A  scullion  is  useful ;  somebody  must 
act  his  part.    A  street-sweeper,  a  chimney-sweep,  the 


244  POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

seller  of  old  clothes,  a  scavenger,  a  tinker,  a  boot- 
black— all  these  men  are  respectable ;  for  though 
their  callings  are  very  humble,  they  are  founded  on 
the  real  wants  of  society.  The  bread  which  such 
men  eat,  is  the  representation  of  what  they  have 
done  for  society ;  not  the  bread  of  idleness,  but  of 
usefulness.  But  what  do  pleasure-mongers  do  for 
a  living? — what  do  they  invent? — what  do  they 
make? — what  do  they  repair? — what  do  they  for 
the  mind,  for  the  body,  for  man,  or  child,  or  beast? 
The  dog  that  gnaws  a  refuse  bone,  pays  for  it  in 
barking  at  a  thief.  The  cat  that  purrs  its  gratitude 
for  a  morsel  of  meat,  will  clear  our  house  of  rats. 
But  what  do  we  get  in  return  for  supporting  whole 
loads  of  play-mongers,  and  circus-clowns?  They 
eat,  they  drink,  they  giggle,  they  grimace,  they  strut 
in  gairish  clothes — and  what  else ?  They  have  not 
afforded  even  useful  amusement ;  they  are  profes- 
sional laugh-makers  ;  their  trade  is  comical  or  tragi- 
cal buffoonery — the  trade  of  tickling  men.  We  do 
not  feel  any  need  of  them,  before  they  come ;  and 
when  they  leave,  the  only  effects  resulting  from 
their  visits  are,  unruly  boys,  aping  apprentices,  and 
unsteady  workmen. 

Now,  upon  principles  of  mere  political  economy, 
is  it  wise  to  support  a  growing  class  of  improvident 
idlers?     If  at  the  top  of  society,  the    government 


POPULAR   AMUSEMENTS.  245 

should  erect  a  class  of  favored  citizens,  and  pamper 
their  idleness  with  fat  pensions,  the  indignation  of 
the  whole  community  would  break  out  against  such 
privileged  aristocrats.  But  we  have,  at  the  bottom 
of  society,  a  set  of  wandering,  jesting,  dancing,  fid- 
dling aristocrats,  whom  we  support  for  the  sake  of 
their  capers,  grins,  and  caricatures  upon  life,  and 
no  one  seems  to  think  this  an  evil. 

VI.  But  even  this  is  cheap  and  wise,  compared 
with  the  evil  which  I  shall  mention.  If  these  mor- 
ality-teachers could  guarantee  us  against  all  evil 
from  their  doings,  we  might  pay  their  support  and 
think  it  a  cheap  bargain.  The  direct  and  neces- 
sary effect  of  their  pursuit,  however,  is  to  demoralize 
men. 

Those  who  defend  Theatres  would  scorn  to  admit 
actors  into  their  society.  It  is  within  the  knowledge 
of  all,  that  men,  who  thus  cater  for  public  plea- 
sure, are  excluded  from  respectable  society.  The 
general  fact  is  not  altered  by  the  exceptions — and 
honorable  exceptions  there  are.  But  where  there 
is  one  Siddons,  and  one  Ellen  Tree,  and  one  Fanny 
Kemble,  how  many  hundred  actresses  are  there  who 
dare  not  venture  within  modest  society?  Where 
there  is  one  Garrick  and  Sheridan,  how  many  thou- 
sand licentious  wretches  are  there,  whose  acting  is 
but  a  means  of  sensual  indulgence  ?  In  the  support 
21* 


246  POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

of  gamblers,  circus-riders,  actors,  and  racing-jock- 
eys, a  Christian  and  industrious  people  are  guilty 
of  supporting  mere  mischief-makers — men  whose 
very  heart  is  diseased,  and  whose  sores  exhale  con- 
tagion to  all  around  them.  We  pay  moral  assas- 
sins to  stab  the  purity  of  our  children.  We  warn 
our  sons  of  temptation,  and  yet  plant  the  seeds 
which  shall  bristle  with  all  the  spikes  and  thorns  of 
the  worst  temptation.  If  to  this  strong  language, 
you  answer,  that  these  men  are  generous  and  jovial, 
that  their  very  business  is  to  please,  that  they  do 
not  mean  to  do  harm, — I  reply,  that  I  do  not  charge 
them  with  trying  to  produce  immorality,  but  with 
pursuing  a  course  which  produces  it,  whether  they 
try  or  not.  An  evil  example  does  harm  by  its  own 
liberty,  without  asking  leave.  Moral  disease,  like 
the  plague,  is  contagious,  whether  the  patient  wishes 
it  or  not.  A  vile  man  infects  his  children  in  spite 
of  himself.  Criminals  make  criminals,  just  as  taint 
makes  taint,  disease  makes  disease,  plagues  make 
plagues.  Those  who  run  the  gay  round  of  plea- 
sure cannot  help  dazzling  the  young,  confounding 
their  habits,  and  perverting  their  morals — it  is  the 
very  nature  of  their  employment. 

These  demoralizing  professions  could  not  be  sus- 
tained but  by  the  patronage  of  moral  men.  Where 
do  the  clerks,  the  apprentices,  the  dissipated,  get  their 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  247 

money  which  buys  an  entrance?  From  whom  is 
that  money  drained,  always,  in  every  land,  which 
supports  vice  ?  Unquestionably  from  the  good,  the 
laborious,  the  careful.  The  skill,  the  enterprise,  the 
labor,  the  good  morals  of  every  nation,  are  always 
taxed  for  the  expenses  of  vice.  Jails  are  built  out 
of  honest  men's  earnings.  Courts  are  supported 
from  peaceful  men's  property.  Penitentiaries  are 
built  by  the  toil  of  virtue.  Crime  never  pays  its 
own  way.  Vice  has  no  hands  to  work,  no  head  to 
calculate.  Its  whole  faculty  is  to  corrupt  and  to 
waste ;  and  good  men,  directly  or  indirectly,  foot  the 
bill. 

At  this  time,  when  we  are  waiting  in  vain  for  the 
return  of  that  bread  which  we  wastefully  cast  upon 
the  waters ;  when,  all  over  the  sea,  men  are  fishing 
up  the  wrecks  of  those  argosies,  and  full  freighted 
fortunes,  which  foundered  in  the  sad  storm  of  recent 
times, — some  question  might  be  asked  about  the 
economy  of  vice;  the  economy  of  paying  for  our 
sons'  idleness ;  the  economy  of  maintaining  a  whole 
lazy  profession  of  gamblers,  racers,  actresses,  and 
actors, — human,  equine  and  belluine  : — whose  er- 
rand is  mischief,  and  luxury,  and  license,  and  gig- 
gling folly.  It  ought  to  be  asked  of  men  who 
groan  at  a  tax  to  pay  their  honest   foreign   debts, 


248  POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

whether  they  can  be  taxed  to  pay  the  bills  of  moun- 
tebanks?* 

It  is  astonishing  how  little  the  influence  of  those 
professions  has  been  considered,  which  exert  them- 
selves mainly  to  delight  the  sensual  feelings  of  men. 
That  whole  race  of  men,  whose  camp  is  the  Thea- 
tre, the  Circus,  the  Turf,  or  the  Gaming-table,  is  a 
race  whose  instinct  is  destruction,  who  live  to  cor- 
rupt, and  live  off  of  the  corruption  which  they  make. 
For  their  support,  we  sacrifice  annual  hecatombs  of 
youthful  victims.     Even  sober  Christian  men,  look 


*  We  cannot  pay  for  honest  loans,  but  we  can  pay  Elssler  hundreds  of 
thousands  for  being  an  airy  sylph  !  America  can  pay  vagabond -tiddlers, 
strumpet-dancers,  fashionable  actors,  dancing-horses,  and  boxing-men ! 
Heaven  forbid  that  these  should  want ! — but  to  pay  honest  debts, — indeed, 
indeed,  we  have  honorable  scruples  of  conscience  about  that! ! 

Let  our  foreign  creditors  dismiss  their  fears,  and  forgive  us  the  commer- 
cial debt ;  write  no  more  drowsy  letters  about  public  faith ;  let  them  write 
spicy  comedies,  and  send  over  hddlers,  and  dancers,  and  actors,  and  sing- 
ers ;— they  will  soon  collect  the  debt  and  keep  us  good-natured !  After 
every  extenuation — hard  times,  deficient  currency,  want  of  market,  &c, 
there  is  a  deeper  reason  than  these  at  the  bottom  of  our  inert  indebtedness. 
Living  among  the  body  of  the  people,  and  having  nothing  to  lose  or  gain 
by  my  opinions,  I  must  say  plainly,  that  the  community  are  not  sensitive 
to  the  disgrace  of  flagrant  public  bankruptcy  ;  they  do  not  seem  to  care 
whether  their  public  debt  be  paid  or  not.  I  perceive  no  enthusiasm  on  that 
subject:  it  is  not  a  tonic  for  either  party,  nor  of  anxious  private  conversa- 
tion. A  profound  indebtedness,  ruinous  to  our  credit  and  to  our  morals, 
is  allowed  to  lie  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  abyss  of  dishonest  indifference. 

Men  love  to  be  taxed  for  their  lusts ;  there  is  an  open  exchequer  for 
licentiousness,  and  for  giddy  pleasure.  We  grow  suddenly  saving,  when 
benevolence  asks  alms,  or  justice  duns  for  debts  ;  we  dole  a  pittance  to 
suppliant  creditors,  to  be  rid  of  their  clamor.  Hut  let  the  divine  Fanny, 
with  evolutions  extremely  efficacious  upon  the  feelings,  lire  the  enthusiasm 
of  a  whole  Theatre  of  men,  whose  applauses  rise— as  she  does  ;  let  this 
courageous  dancer,  almost  literally  true  to  nature,  display  her  adventurous 
(eats  before  a  thousand  men,  and  the  very  miser  will  turn  spendthrift ; 
the  land  which  will  not  pay  its  honest  creditors,  will  enrich  a  strolling 
danseuse,  and  rain  down  upon  the  st;iL,re  a  stream  of  golden  boxes,  or 
golden  coin,  wreaths  and  rosy  billet-doux. 


POPULAR    AMUSEMENTS.  249 

smilingly  upon  the  gairish  outside  of  these  train- 
bands of  destruction ;  and  while  we  see  the  results 
to  be,  uniformly,  dissipation,  idleness,  dishonesty, 
vice  and  crime,  still  they  lull  us  with  the  lying 
lyric  of  "  classic  drama"  and  "  human  life"  "  moral- 
ity" "  poetry"  and  "  divine  comedy" 

Disguise  it  as  you  will,  these  men  of  pleasure  are, 
the  world  over,  corrupters  of  youth.  Upon  no 
principle  of  kindness  can  we  tolerate  them ;  no  ex- 
cuse is  bold  enough;  we  can  take  bail  from  none 
of  their  weaknesses — it  is  not  safe  to  have  them 
abroad  even  upon  excessive  bail.  You  might  as 
well  take  bail  of  lions,  and  allow  scorpions  to  breed 
in  our  streets  for  a  suitable  license;  or  for  a  tax 
indulge  assassins.  Men  whose  life  is  given  to  evil 
pleasures  are,  to  ordinary  criminals,  what  a  univer- 
sal pestilence  is  to  a  local  disease.  They  fill  the  air, 
pervade  the  community,  and  bring  around  every 
youth  an  atmosphere  of  death.  Corrupters  of  youth 
have  no  mitigation  of  their  baseness.  Their  gener- 
osity avails  nothing,  their  knowledge  nothing,  their 
varied  accomplishments  nothing.  These  are  only 
so  many  facilities  for  greater  evil.  Is  a  serpent  less 
deadly,  because  his  burnished  scales  shine?  Shall 
a  dove  praise  and  court  the  vulture,  because  he  has 
such  glossy  plumage?  The  more  accomplishments 
a  bad  man  has,  the  more  dangerous  is  he ; — they 


250  TOPULAR    AMUSEMENTS. 

are  the  garlands  which  cover  up  the  knife  with 
which  he  will  stab.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  good 
corrupters.  You  might  as  well  talk  of  a  mild  and 
pleasant  murder,  a  very  lenient  assassination,  a 
grateful  stench,  or  a  pious  devil.  We  denounce 
them ;  for  it  is  our  nature  to  loathe  perfidious  cor- 
ruption. We  have  no  compunction  to  withhold 
us.  We  mourn  over  a  torn  and  bleeding  lamb ;  but 
who  mourns  the  wolf  which  rent  it?  We  weep  for 
despoiled  innocence ;  but  who  sheds  a  tear  for  the 
savage  fiend  who  plucks  away  the  flower  of  virtue? 
We  shudder  and  pray  for  the  shrieking  victim  of 
the  Inquisition;  but  who  would  spare  the  hoary 
Inquisitor,  before  whose  shriveled  form  the  piteous 
maid  implores  relief  in  vain  ?  Even  thus,  we  pal- 
liate the  sins  of  generous  youth  ;  and  their  downfall 
is  our  sorrow :  but  for  their  destroyers,  for  the  cor- 
rupters of  youth,  who  practise  the  infernal  chemis- 
try of  ruin,  and  dissolve  the  young  heart  in  vice — 
we  have  neither  tears,  nor  pleas,  nor  patience.  We 
lift  our  heart  to  Him  who  beareth  the  iron  rod  of 
vengeance,  and  pray  for  the  appointed  time  of  judg- 
ment. Ye  miscreants  !  think  ye  that  ye  are  growing 
tall,  and  walking  safely,  because  God  hath  forgot- 
ten? The  bolt  shall  yet  smite  you!  you  shall  be 
heard  as  the  falling  of  an  oak  in  the  silent  forest — 
the  vaster  its  growth,  the  more  terrible  its  resound- 


POPULAR   AMUSEMENTS.  251 

ing  downfall !  Oh  !  thou  corrupter  of  youth  !  I 
would  not  take  thy  death,  for  all  the  pleasure  of  ^^JLA 
thy  guilty  life,  a  thousand  fold.  Thou  shalt  draw 
near  to  the  shadow  of  death.  To  the  Christian, 
these  shades  are  the  golden  haze  which  heaven's 
light  makes,  when  it  meets  the  earth  and  mingles 
with  its  shadows.  But  to  thee,  these  shall  be  shad- 
ows full  of  phantom-shapes.  Images  of  terror  in  the 
Future  shall  dimly  rise  and  beckon; — the  ghastly 
deeds  of  the  Past  shall  stretch  out  their  skinny 
hands  to  push  thee  forward !  Thou  shall  not  die 
unattended.  Despair  shall  mock  thee.  Agony  shall 
tender  to  thy  parched  lips  her  fiery  cup.  Remorse 
shall  feel  for  thy  heart,  and  rend  it  open.  Good 
men  shall  breathe  freer  at  thy  death,  and  utter 
thanksgiving  when  thou  art  gone.  Men  shall  place  J%^ 
thy  grave-stone  as  a  monument  and  testimony  that 
a  plague  is  stayed ;  no  tear  shall  wet  it,  no  mourner 
linger  there  !  And,  as  borne  on  the  blast  thy  guilty 
spirit  whistles  toward  the  gate  of  hell,  the  hideous 
shrieks  of  those  whom  thy  hand  hath  destroyed, 
shall  pierce  thee — hell's  first  wrelcome.  In  the  bosom 
of  that  everlasting  storm  which  rains  perpetual 
misery  in  hell,  shalt  thou,  corrupter  of  youth  !  be 
forever  hidden  from  our  view :  and  may  God  wipe 
out  the  very  thoughts  of  thee  from  our  memory. 


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